


The stars are out tonight

by Chicken_Nuggets800



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), And wants justice, Assassins vs. Templars, Basically threw together a bunch of youtubers, Dream is used, Everyone loves Dream, Fighting, Fluff and Angst, I hope they don't find this, M/M, Medieval type times but with a modern flair, Minecraft manhunt references, Minor Original Character(s), Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Probably got some things wrong, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, assassins creed au, descriptions of violence, how can you not, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:22:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 70,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25307437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chicken_Nuggets800/pseuds/Chicken_Nuggets800
Summary: As a child, Clay was taken in by Templars. They raised him, trained him, gave him a home and a place to belong. It was all he and his friends had ever known.But when someone from his past finds him and throws his whole world on its head, he finds himself questioning what is really right.Are the Templars all they claim they are?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 121
Kudos: 795





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Scrolling through Dreamteam fanart made me crave an Assassins Creed au so I just decided, what the hell. I'll just write one myself. This is in no way cannon compliant at all, and I've probably got a bunch of things wrong but oh well.
> 
> Disclaimer time: This is completely for fun and self indulgence, don't take this too seriously. I do know the complications of shipping real people, and I would never force my views on anyone, let alone Dream and George. I respect them way too much for that. This is based more on their internet personas anyway, and is in no way meant to be disrespectful.
> 
> Yeah, that's it for now. Thanks

His prey stalked through the brush below him, footsteps quiet and ears open. A sword lay outstretched in his hand, a shield in his other; both of them raised as if to protect him from an invisible opponent.

To protect against _him_.

He moved slowly and carefully, twisting through the outgrowth of bushes and vines that hung down like nooses, threatening to strangle anyone who was stupid enough to tangle in its clutches.

He could see weary eyes darting from side to side, picking apart the dark surroundings in search of his hunter, completely unaware that he hovered above him, smiling wickedly. He shifted his weight and skipped from one heaving branch to the next, leaving nothing but the faint groan of wood swaying in his wake. His prey didn’t even notice the mournful sigh the trees above him made.

His prey stopped when he found the jagged claws of branches catching on his pants as he tried to move past, begging him to stay. Silently warning him of the danger to come. He was forced to stop and hack the intruding limbs away, ignoring their pleas.

That was his downfall.

Like a leopard he struck, leaping from his perch.

“ _Oh, George!_ ”

His prey turned and looked up, raising his shield.

Too late.

A shriek. A vicious peel of laughter. The thump of bodies hitting the floor.

The wolfish shine of his teeth glinted in the dim light trickling through the canopy from where he sat, straddling and pinning George down by the waist. His dagger pressed against the curve of his throat ever so gently, while his prey’s weapons-his defences-lay sprawled out on the forest ground, thrown by the impact that left him breathless. One move and the other would be left to bleed out on the forest floor, red taking over the luscious green. He was completely at his mercy.

“Dead.” He crowed.

Silence hung over them for a few moments, wide, shocked eyes staring up at gleaming ones.

“What?” He choked out, appalled at how easily he had been taken out. “How did you-”

“I dunno. You’re just bad, I guess.”

“Oh my God... You’re such an idiot.” George rolled his eyes, swatting at his hand.

He drew back with a disbelieving raise of his eyebrows, sitting back on his heels and letting his dagger go back to sleep in its sheath. “What? _I’m_ an idiot? I got you!”

“Yes, you’re an idiot.” His friend sat up now that his weight was off of him again, wiping the dirt from his arms while noticeably not addressing the last bit of his words.

Clay let out a bark of laughter, pushing himself up onto the balls of his feet to retrieve the fallen sword and shield. “I did get you though.”

“Yeah okay, fine. You did. But only because you cheated.” George huffed.

“ _What_? How did I cheat?”

“I don’t know.”

He gave his pouting friend a look, freeing up a hand to hold it out for him. A silent peace offering. 

He examined the outstretched limb for a moment, before decidedly turning away and electing to reject it.

“Oh my god. You’re so annoying.” He could hear the soft giggle that accompanied his exasperated sigh. He had to fight back a smile at the sound of it.

“There you two muffins are!” A new voice popped up, startling the both of them. BadBoyHalo gave them a fond but vaguely concerned smile as he pushed through the abundance of shrubs and branches, Sapnap just behind him with a more reserved look on his face. Both of those names were only nicknames given to them by themselves, but they’d been going by them for as long as both Clay and George could remember.

In fact, Clay wasn’t even sure either of them had ever told him their real names. Whenever it was brought up, they’d just share a tired look and say, _‘These_ are _our names now.’_ He’d learnt to just drop it at that.

“Johnson’s been looking for you two for a while now.” Sapnap pointed out, squinting at them suspiciously. “What were you guys even doing out here?”

“Practising.” He and George chimed at the same time. They flashed each other amused grins, especially when Bad snorted.

“So who won the hunt, then?” He asked,

“I did.”

“He cheated.”

“I did not!”

“ _Anyway_.” Sapnap interjected pointedly, despite the amused smile on his face. “Johnson. You two. Did you hear any of that?”

“Right.” He nodded, turning to George to offer him a hand again-

Only to see Bad already helping him up to his feet. 

Seeing the affronted look on his face at the sheer _betrayal_ of the act, George grinned and stuck his tongue out at him.

He frowned, something inside of him urging him to toss his sword and shield into the bushes somewhere, just to be petty. But he didn’t, and only handed them over to the other male when he reached out for them. “Rude.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

-

Clay straightened up as the door swung open, welcoming them into the room’s embrace. His three friends did the same unconsciously, all of them raising themselves to their full height. Their mentor stood across from the elegant desk that divided them, fingers brushing against the hard edges of a row of books on a shelf, as if testing to see which one he should choose. He and George hesitantly stepped inside while the other two hovered by the doorway. But whether they were just hesitating or wanted to sate their curiosity, he didn’t know.

“You wanted to see us?” He asked, folding his arms behind his back.

Elias Johnson turned, greying hair and stormy eyes softening the natural hard edges of his face. He smiled at the sight of them, further relaxing his expression, despite the way it pulled and twisted at the multitude of scars that marred his skin.

He placed the chosen book down and sank into the velvet confines of his large, luxurious armchair. Despite the almost imposing size the piece of furniture was, the man made it barely look so. His bulky frame and tall height suited the chair perfectly, whereas a smaller person would’ve disappeared into it completely.

“Ah. Clay, George. Thank you for coming in.” His eyes sifted past them and to the still open door, easily catching sight of their friends despite them trying to be discrete. “Sapnap, Bad, would you two mind joining us as well?”

He and George exchanged curious looks at that. Neither of them said anything about it though. When Sap settled into a place next to him, he spared a quick glance his way. He looked just as confused as they did. Once they’d all stopped shifting around, Johnson continued,

“I have a mission for the four of you.”

His heart leapt into his throat.

_A mission?_

Was he being serious?

Well, of course he was. While a kind-hearted man most days, he still wasn’t one for joking around. He’d learnt that better than most over the years, seeing as the Master Templar had practically raised him after his parents had died.

But still, a mission? None of them had been on active duty yet, let alone any missions. Their superiors told them that they were still too young and inexperienced, despite their level of their skills claiming otherwise.

They’d been training their whole lives for this, and now finally. _Finally,_ they were going on a mission.

He could almost feel himself vibrating with excitement, and from Sapnap’s grin and the way George kept shifting from foot to foot, they were both just as thrilled. But they knew better than to express their emotions out loud.

“Although,” Johnson continued resolutely, “Let me make myself clear: this isn’t a typical mission. There will be no danger involved.”

Wait, what?

“You will be meeting with a fellow Templar at the city up north. He’ll be waiting for you in the markets. You will give him a letter and you will part ways. Do not engage with anyone and do not, under any circumstance, draw any attention to yourselves. Do you understand?”

They nodded in spite of feeling the immeasurable disappointment that weighed heavily on their shoulders. This… This wasn’t a mission! _This was an errand! Did the_ y really not believe that they were ready for more high-levelled missions?

“I’m sorry, but why do you need all four of us to go if it’s just a message delivery?” Bad spoke up, tone polite, if not a bit strained.

“Well, I just thought you boys could use some time out. You could spend the rest of the day going around the city, visiting the marketplace.” The Elder Templar answered, an amused spark in his grey eyes. “But if you don’t want to go, I’m sure some other recruits would be happy to go in your place…”

“No!” Sap burst out, before clearing his throat awkwardly, red crawling up his neck and onto his cheeks at his own sudden upsurge. Clay had to bite down hard on his cheek to keep himself from grinning his amusement. “No, no. We want to.” His friend hastily corrected himself. “Thank you, sir.”

It might not have been the mission they wanted, but… Spending some time away from the mansion’s grounds? From their training and the judging eyes of both their fellow recruits and their teachers alike? That was certainly better than nothing. Besides, it’d been a while since any of them had gotten explicit permission to leave the area.

“How will we know who we’re looking for?” George asked, a frown hanging heavy on his brows.

“He will find you, don’t worry. You’ll just need to confirm it’s him by giving him a password.”

“And what’s the password?” He found himself speaking up before his brain could catch up to his mouth. Luckily for him, the older man didn’t seem to mind the partial interruption.

“Emily will give you the details and the letter. She’s waiting for you inside the stables.” Stormy eyes raked over them slowly, calloused hands resting on the smooth shine of his desk. He nodded once, the motion sharp and resolute. “You are dismissed. May the Father of Understanding guide us.”

And like the obedient dogs they were trained to be, they proudly responded as one, “May the Father of Understanding guide us.”

He turned to leave, only to stop mid-step when he heard his name called.

“Stay behind for a moment, would you? I want to speak with you alone.” The way he said it made it sound almost like a suggestion. But Clay knew better than that. For all his honeyed words and kindly façade, he was still their superior, and this was clearly an order. He knew better than to ignore it.

So he pivoted on his heels to face the Templar again, ignoring the curious-if not slightly concerned-look on George’s face as he filed past him. They remained silent until everyone else had left the room and the door gently clicked close, signalling the finality of their retreat.

Johnson unfolded an envelope that had previously lain forgotten on the desk, pouring over the contents of it in silence.

He waited patiently for Johnson to finish, or even for him to speak, but the other man didn’t seem to notice. Even when the seconds started turning into minutes and the comfortable silence turned deafening. Even when something beneath his skin began to itch with a certain need to do _something_ other than stand around doing nothing. Like a ravenous hound clawing beneath the surface, wanting to run free, yet forever held back by the primal fear of disobeying the alpha wolf.

But still he said and did nothing, instead waiting and waiting and _waiting_ while Johnson sat on his throne of bloodied silk and velvet.

And that was exactly what it looked like to him. Like the blood of an innocent had been spilt over the expensive cloth in a never-ending war, forever staining it with its pointless violence and ruby shine.

Meanwhile its king sat lavishly in the token of his wealth, ruler of his own private domain.

He very nearly flinched when Johnson cleared his throat, the noise viciously yanking his wandering thoughts back into the present. He clenched his hands into fists until the sharp crescents of his nails cut into his palms, soothing the aching beast that lay inside him. Even if temporarily.

He watched as the man placed the letter down, all trace of his previous humour gone from his face. It looked like he had aged five years just in the time he had stood there before him.

So bad news, he guessed.

“The Assassins have been more active lately.” He finally spoke, shattering the silence once and for all. “We’ve had sightings of them snooping around our strongholds more and more with every passing day.”

He blinked a few times, internally reeling at this new information.

This was the first time he’d heard any of this. In fact, this was the first time Johnson had ever spoken to him about their century-long rivals outside of his compulsory history lessons he had been forced to sit through as a recruit.

As if sensing his confusion, he felt his gaze rest on him, burning holes through him. “You’re still young.” He sighed after a moment or two of deliberate staring. Internally he braced himself for what he knew was to come. An admonishment. A long-winded speech about life. Metaphors that he didn’t really understand and didn’t think he ever would. All of them leading to the same thing: He wasn’t ready.

So he prepared himself to hear what he’d heard a thousand times before.

“Young… But talented.” Wide eyes shot up, surprise colouring his expression, only to be met with the ghost of a smile. “I’ve noticed your work for a while now. I’ve read the reports your teachers have given on you. I’ve seen your level of skill both in training and on paper. It is… Beyond anything I had hoped of you.”

He felt dizzy.

He’d… _noticed_ him?

“I-I don’t understand.” He croaked out. When had his mouth gotten so dry?

“Clay, you’ve excelled at almost everything you’ve been given throughout the years. None of the other recruits come close to matching your skills. You’ve risen far above your fellow recruits, you had to have realised that?”

He _had_ realised it… He’d just never thought much of it.

Throughout his life, he’d always felt like he worked harder than the rest.

To get better. To prove his place. To make them proud. Over the years he had gone from barely being able to fend off one person during a staged attack, to being able to defeat three, then four, then five at a time.

George would call him “big-headed” and “a try-hard” whenever he came to him after winning a particularly vicious spout, grinning like the predator he was, in spite of his aches and pains. And despite his playfully scathing words, the impressed sparkle in his eyes always stoked the ever-burning fire inside of him, warming his body and making him forget about the various cuts and bruises he’d attained each time. He’d choose to suffer through countless battles, bearing both the scorn of the dozen other recruits he’d beaten over the years and the injuries that came with them, over and over and over again.

He’d do so willingly, readily, openly.

Because to him, it was always worth it, as long as he got to see that smile.

It was what gave him the strength to carry on. Every proud smirk and excited grin told him to keep his head up, even if George himself would say otherwise.

 _“Over-confident,_ ” He’d criticise fondly, without ever even knowing that _he_ was the one who made him so.

“Clay,” Johnson caught his eyes as he blinked out of his bewildered reverie. “I believe you are ready for active duty. I have no doubt that you will be a deadly force to reckon with out in the field.”

Active duty… almost twelve years of training and waiting to hear these words… But he couldn’t bring himself to feel excited just yet.

“What about the others?” He found himself asking. “George, and Sapnap, and Bad. They’re ready too.”

His expression pinched at that. But with what emotion exactly, he couldn’t tell. “I realize that they are your friends, but they still have much to learn.” Seeing the dismayed look on his face, he continued smoothly, “I’m sure they will be able to join you soon enough, but not just yet.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Well, as the most… _advanced_ recruit going on the delivery today, I’m tasking you with looking after the others. I did mention before that Assassins have been making a nuisance of themselves lately, a lot more than they have been in awhile. I hope you will not run into any of them, but we must be prepared for anything. You will need to look out for any potential trouble and protect the others at all costs. If swords must be drawn, I expect you to deal with it discreetly and efficiently. I don’t want any accidents today, do you understand me?”

Clay nodded, taking a moment to push through the lump in his throat. “Yes sir.”

Sharp eyes scanned over him, as if studying every inch of his face. What he saw must’ve been good enough because he dipped his head once. “Good. Go and join your friends now.” Turning to leave, he paused once again at the faint, but still strong words of, “Be careful out there.”

He didn’t respond, and only ducked his way out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Only once he was outside was he able to breathe normally again, the cool, fresh air helping to soothe his nerves.

This was all just… It was too much to take in in such a short amount of time. He was way too overwhelmed.

“Clay! Hurry up!”

His head snapped up at the sound of Sapnap’s voice calling him, eyes settling on a few figures not far from him. The three of his friends had already mounted their chosen horses and were clearly waiting for them, though in no definitive hurry.

But still, not wanting to leave them waiting, he jogged over, deciding to try and leave his concerns in the dust behind him. His thoughts could wait.

“God, what took you so long?” George whinged, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that long.” He said, accepting the reins from Bad with a quick smile and pulling himself up into the saddle.

“It really was.” Sapnap agreed readily.

“Whatever, let’s just go!” Bad interrupted his next words, which was probably for the best. Knowing his friends, they wouldn’t have dropped that particular conversation until they got to the city. And he’d have been too caught up in the arguing to realize.

With that, the four of them nudged their horses forward into a steady trot, Sapnap whooping as they left the mansion grounds for the first time in what felt like forever.

At some point during the ride, Clay remembered the purpose of their little excursion, and turned in his saddle slightly to look at Sapnap over his shoulder.

“So who’s got the letter?”

“I do.” George answered for him, looking back at the two of them. He looked smug, with that sly smirk of his and the way he held his head high. Like a mighty king. “Emily gave it specifically to me. Obviously because I’m the best one here.”

“No, no, no, you got lucky!” Bad argued immediately from where he was at the very front of the group.

“You’re just jealous.”

He sputtered audibly, waving his hands about without realising that he was slowly leading his horse to the side and out of the path by doing so.

“I am not!”

“Okay, okay.” Clay couldn’t keep the grin from his face, though he tried. “Sorry for asking.”

He ducked beneath a low hanging branch, debating whether or not to warn Sapnap about it. He decided not to; his reward being a solid _thwack_ sound, followed by the muffled sound of twigs snapping and a flurry of swear words erupting from behind him.

“ _Freaking_ … Nature.” He grumbled scornfully.

He had to stifle a huff of laughter at that. “Nature?”

“Yes. Nature.” The way he said the word made it sound as if it had wronged him terribly. In his eyes, it probably had.

“So what did Johnson want to talk to you about?” George asked, slowing his horse down so that they were no longer travelling in one line, but the two of them next to each other. It made it easier for them to look at each other, but… Right now, Clay didn’t exactly want George to see his face.

Not when he knew just how much he wore his heart on his sleeve.

And knowing George, he’d be able to see his conflict written across his face as if he were a book for all to read. They’d grown up together, after all. Sometimes he thought he knew him better than he even knew himself.

He didn’t want his friends to find out that he might get pulled out for duty before the rest of them. He didn’t want them to… well, hate him for it. He had enough of that from the other recruits. And if he lost George as well?

He didn’t know what he would do.

He’d tell them eventually, of course he would. But for now… for now he’d rather have fun with his friends without having to worry about Templars and ranks and Johnson.

So to try and keep his face as neutral as he could, he leaned forward to gently pet the soft fur of his horse’s neck. He would’ve thought that the almost russet coloured mare didn’t notice him at all, if not for the recognising flick of her ears.

“Oh, you know. The usual.” He told him coolly, ignoring the burn of eyes on the side of his face. “Be careful.” He mocked their mentor, making his voice deeper and gravelly as he tried to mimic him. “Don’t do anything stupid or reckless. Be responsible.” He rolled his eyes as he sat back upright again. “As if. I’m _always_ responsible.”

His white lie seemed to convince George, who scoffed. “You? Responsible? As if.”

“Hey! I can be plenty responsible.”

“Maybe in your dreams.”

“Ohhh snap.” Sapnap chirped in. When he turned in his saddle to give him a betrayed look, he was met with a cheeky grin. “What?”

“I thought you’d be on my side!” He complained, ignoring the peals of laughter coming from both George and BadBoyHalo.

“Hey, don’t hate on me. You know it’s true.”

“Still…” He knew he was pouting now, if not just to be extra childish. “You guys are mean.”

“Aww, did we hurt your feelings?” George cooed.

Clay frowned as he looked at him, tempted to cross his arms petulantly. And he would’ve, if his hands hadn’t been otherwise preoccupied. “Yes.”

They stared at each other for a few moments tensely.

George cracked first, ducking his head to smother his laughter. At that he couldn’t help but break as well, cracking up with a wheeze that only made Sapnap and Bad start to giggle as well. They only stopped when all four of them were sore from laughing so much.

“You muffins.” Bad shook his head fondly.

-

“Holy-guys! Come look at this!” Dream looked over his shoulder, placing down the pendant he’d been looking at. Sapnap stood hunched over a rack of weapons across the street, hands eagerly darting around to touch and prod at each of them.

Offering a polite smile to the bored looking vendor of the stall he stood at, he pulled away and moved towards his friend, weaving through the thick crowd of people milling around, browsing and bartering and chatting away.

The atmosphere here was nice. With the sun beaming down on them happily and not a cloud in the sky, the weather was pretty much perfect. Multicoloured banners and materials decorated the various stands, bright and cheerful in the relatively narrow street.

It’s been a while since any of them had gotten the chance to visit the marketplace, but it was just as brilliant as always. He moved past a colourfully robed man trying to catch his attention, hands full of necklaces and bracelets. Asking loudly if he had a woman he wanted to impress.

“I know she’ll enjoy these lovely pieces!” He had claimed, chasing after him for longer than he appreciated, before switching targets to another curious man.

While nice trinkets, he didn’t exactly have anyone to impress. Or not a girl, at least. And he was sure George wouldn’t appreciate him giving him a pearl necklace or a jewel encrusted hair piece.

Although it would be quite a sight to see him wearing a pretty hair clip like that.

Bad reached Sapnap before he did, just catching the tail end of a dramatic sigh.

“We’ve already got swords.” Bad pointed out, though his own eyes did rove over the array of glinting weaponry.

“I know but look at this one! It’s so cool.” Sapnap gushed, struggling to pick up a broadsword with intricate detailing around the hilt. He very nearly dropped it the moment he pulled it off of the rack, gritting his teeth in his effort to keep it upright.

“It’s bigger than you are.” Clay deadpanned, earning an accusing glare and a sharp jab in his side that made him squirm away.

“Shut up.” The brunet snapped haughtily, though they all knew it was true. He gave up quickly enough and placed it back where it belonged, much to the stall owner’s amusement. “Okay fine, whatever.” He huffed, fixing the strip of fabric he always had tied around his head.

“You probably couldn’t have afforded it anyway.” Bad said, absently picking up and examining a _way_ too fancy looking dagger.

“A guy can dream...”

Clay paused in his curious examination of the stand’s contents, raking his gaze around briefly. “Wait, where’s George?”

“He told me he went to go look for something.” Sapnap answered, picking up a wicked battle axe. A grin split across his face as he held it up. “Oh my god guys, how cool do I look with this thing?”

“Very cool.” Clay agreed distractedly, still looking around to see if he could spot a familiar mop of brunet hair.

“You didn’t even look at me!” He spluttered.

“Well I think you look badass, Sapnap.” BadBoyHalo flashed him a smile, adjusting his glasses.

“Why thank you.” At that he puffed his chest out proudly and flexed, resting the back of the large axe against his shoulder. “You know what? I think I wanna learn to fight with an axe. That’d be pretty awesome.”

“Have fun with that. I’m gonna go look for George quickly.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

He left the two of them to browse through the weapons some more, slipping into the throng of shoppers. Walking down the bustling street, he kept an eye out for George and the very prominent white rimmed colour-correcting glasses he always wore.

That didn’t stop him from getting distracted by the multitude of items on display for sale, or the loud shouts of owners trying to garner as much attention as possible.

He stopped by a fruit cart, picking out a few shiny apples. He knew George liked apples, and-gross as it was-liked to dip them in apple juice before eating them. It made them tastier, apparently.

Clay just thought he was a weirdo.

He passed a few gold coins to the cart’s owner, a warm lady with a welcoming smile and twinkling eyes who had a young child resting on her hip. “Thank you, sir! Have a pleasant day.”

“Yeah, you too.” He gave her a grateful smile as he slipped the apples into a pouch and tied it to his belt. With the exchange completed, he moved away again, continuing his journey down the road. Everywhere he looked were more and more stores. Everything he could’ve imagined was being sold. From richly coloured clothing and decorated fabrics, to foreign foods and delicious smelling spices. Ornaments, weaponry, alcohol, jewellery, carpets.

Anything and everything.

The crowd parted, revealing a familiar blue shirt and brown hooded cloak that had been pulled down to hang around his neck. He stood by a stall, something small and shiny in his hands. He was too far away for him to be able to really see what it was, but he didn’t care too much anyway.

He opened his mouth to call George, only for a hand to wrap around his mouth and an arm to reach around his waist.

The only thing he had time to do was panic.

Then he was being dragged backwards through the unsuspecting bustle of the crowd, all too absorbed in their own things to even notice.

George disappeared from view in seconds.

Before he could even try to break free, the two of them burst into a nearby alley and out of sight entirely. The arms around him vanished the second they were hidden in the darkness. The moment they were gone he whirled around with a snarl, hand already on the hilt of his sword and his blade half-way out of its sheath.

“Clay?” The shaky sound of his name on his kidnapper’s lips made him freeze. His demand died before it even left his throat, confused eyes stuck on the unknown person.

How did he know his name?

He stood in place, still holding onto his weapon while he stared down his assailant. A boy about his age with a head full of bright pink hair stared back at him. A peculiar look sat on his face, something he could only think of as desperation… or hope. Either way, it looked like the guy was about to cry. “Oh my god. Oh my god, it’s you. It’s really you.”

The next thing he knew, arms were around him again. But this time it wasn’t because he was being forced away.

He locked in place; stunned.

He was being hugged.

His kidnapper was hugging him.

A nearly silent, “What the fuck?” breathed through his lips.

It was still loud enough for the shiny-eyed male to hear though and he pulled away, red colouring his cheeks.

“I-sorry. Fuck, sorry. I just-I haven’t seen you in so long. I can’t believe it’s really you.” He apologised, speaking so quickly that it almost sounded more like rambling than anything else. “I’m sorry if I scared you, I just didn’t know what to do. I needed to talk to you.”

“ _What_? Who are you?” Clay interrupted, eyebrows creased together and a bewildered look on his face.

Wide eyes stared back at him. “You… You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Remember you?” He echoed, annoyance colouring his voice. “All I remember is that you practically kidnapped me!”

“I didn’t kidnap you!” The man spluttered, looking vaguely offended. “I just wanted to catch you alone.”

“Oh my god. Do you even know how creepy that sounds?”

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know what else to do.” He had the good sense to look guilty, but the determination that shone in his eyes undermined it greatly. “Look, I…” He faltered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I just explain everything? Please? I promise I’m not here to hurt you or anything.”

Clay was still annoyed. Still a bit in fight-or-flight mode because of the sudden turn of events. But he looked so… So _genuine_ that he couldn’t help but want to give him a chance to explain himself properly.

Letting out a harsh exhale, he sheathed his sword fully. “All right. All right, explain. And quickly. My friends are probably waiting for me.”

“Right, of course.” He nodded his agreement hastily. “Okay. My name is Techno. Techno Blade. We were friends when we were younger.”

“ _What_?” He couldn’t help but burst out.

“We were friends.” He repeated himself earnestly. “Like _good_ friends. We used to hang out all the time. Our families were really close.”

He was definitely taken aback at that. They used to be friends? If that was true, why didn’t he remember him?

Seeing the confusion on his face, the other man frowned slightly, trying to hide his obvious disappointment-but failing miserably. “I… guess you were too young to really remember me.”

He was hesitant to really continue talking with a guy who could very well be lying to him, but with the promise of answers, his curiosity had practically taken over already.

He knew next to nothing about his past. Whenever he’d brought it up to Elias, the man had always either deflected the questions, or told him just enough to satiate his thirst for answers. And the other older Templars either claimed they knew nothing about it or would just outright refuse to talk about it.

The things he knew about his past could be counted on one hand.

He knew when his birthday was. He knew his parents were Templars. He knew that Johnson was friends with his parents. He knew his parents died in a fire caused by the Assassins. He knew that Johnson took him in when his parents died.

That was it.

That was all he knew.

While most days he was content with not thinking about where he came from or who his parents were, some days… Some days he’d spend hours thinking about it.

Sometimes he just felt like he didn’t know who he was.

George was always there for him when he fell into one of those depressive slumps, and for that he was eternally grateful. But no matter how long they talked and how much George helped take his mind off of those things, there was still something _missing_ from him.

And now, for the first time in his life, he might be able to figure out the truth.

So throwing caution to the wind and shoving down his wariness, he spoke again. “Our families knew each other?”

“Well yeah. Our families have been in the Creed for years.” The Creed? What was that? “We were babies when they introduced us. Apparently we took a liking to each other immediately.” There was a far-away look on his face and a nostalgic smile curving at his lips. “My parents loved you like a son. And from what I can remember, your parents were the same with me.” His smile fell at that. In just a few seconds he shifted from fond to distraught, grief lighting his eyes up. “You just… disappeared after they died. I never got to say it, but…I’m sorry. Really. They were good people.”

What should he say to that? Thank you? He didn’t really remember his parents. One or two flash of what he thought might be a faded memory of them was all he had left.

“Right… The fire.” He said it more as an acknowledgement, not sure how else to respond.

It was apparently the wrong thing to say though, because Techno frowned heavily and recoiled. “The fire? Clay, your parents were murdered. The fire was set afterwards as a cover up.”

The air rushed from his lungs as if he’d been punched.

“What?” It came out more breathless than he realised it would, but he couldn’t find himself to care.

Techno bit down on his lower lip, eyes flicking across his face slowly. “You didn’t know?” He asked, clearly cautious about what he said.

“No, I…” He swallowed thickly. “I was told they died in the fire. Assassins killed them.” Techno’s face went pale, lips parting in horror. “What?” He pressed, baffled at his response.

“That’s-That’s not true. That’s not true at all!” He almost shouted, before reigning himself in a bit. But the fact that he was getting worked up about this made a bad feeling settle in his stomach. Something wasn’t right? “Who told you that?”

“A man named Elias Johnson. He was a friend of my parents. He took me in when they died.” Seeing the rapidly growing devastated look on his face, a cold pit formed within him.

“Johnson… Oh my god…” He whispered.

“ _What_? What is it?” He demanded, getting more and more anxious by his response. Or lack of one.

“Johnson wasn’t their friend.” He said, running a hand over the top of his head. Just as stressed as he was, it seemed. “Oh my god, it makes sense… It makes so much sense now.”

“What makes sense?”

“When your parents died, we looked for you. My parents, our allies, everyone in the Creed that could spare time; we all searched for you. But you had gone… We thought you were dead. I guess I know what really happened now.” He admitted solemnly, bitterness lining his words. “Johnson must’ve kidnapped you.”

“No. What? _No._ Whoever you think Johnson is, he’s not him. He would never-No.” He couldn’t help but deny adamantly. “How would you even know him?”

“Because he’s the man that killed them.”

His heart shuddered to a stop in his chest.

His mouth formed the word, ‘What?’ but no sound came out.

Techno grimaced. “Clay, your parents weren’t killed by Assassins. They _were_ Assassins.”

“No. No, that’s not… That can’t be.”

“I… I’m sorry, Clay.”

“No! You’re lying!” He snarled desperately, taking a step back.

“I’m not. I swear.” He promised quietly.

He had to be though. He _had_ to be lying.

But the pained look on his face and the distraught sheen of his eyes told him the silent truth.

He wasn’t lying.

The world spun around him.

He felt dizzy.

 _Sick_.

He had to lean back against the wall to keep his balance. Without it he might’ve tipped right over entirely.

“I… I don’t…” He struggled to get any words out. He struggled to even string together a thought that was even slightly coherent. The only thing on his mind was,

_My life has been a lie._

“I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t think…” Techno trailed off, voice cracking ever so slightly. “I’m sorry we gave up on you.” He said quietly.

He sucked in a breath, trying to force himself to regain control. It worked… slightly. Just enough for the walls to stop writhing around him. “I-”

“Clay!” He flinched at the sound of his name being called from a distance. And all at once the conflict in his mind came swirling to a stand-still.

He could recognise the voice anywhere.

“George…” He murmured, distractedly looking down the alley and onto the street.

The market was still bustling with activity, noisy and crowded. The world went on like normal out there. No one noticed the storm raging within his mind. No one noticed them at all.

“Clay! Where are you?” Another shout. This time from Sapnap.

“My friends. They’re looking for me. I-I have to go.” He stammered out, making a move to slip past the other.

“Wait!” The pink haired male stopped him by grabbing him by his arm. “Please, I… I want to see you again. I know you must have questions, questions I’m sure I can answer.” Wide, pleading eyes stared up at him. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know if you meet me here again tomorrow, same time.”

Clay hesitated. “I’m not sure if I can-”

“Please. Just… think about it.”

“…Okay.” He conceded with a tired sigh.

Techno’s expression softened and he let go of his arm again, hand dropping to his side. “Thank you.”

With a swallow he turned away, trying his best not to think about the eyes glued to his back nor the anxious thoughts still gnawing in his mind.

He squinted as he left the shadows of the alley, forced to get used to the bright sunlight again too quickly.

Before his eyes could adjust properly, he was tackled from the side, an elated, “Clay!” shouted in his ears.

“Jesus-Sapnap!” He complained, swiping his free hand at the back of his friend’s head. The dark-haired teen didn’t seem to care though, only clung onto him tighter in his already suffocating hug.

“We thought you were dead, man!”

“Hoping, is more accurate.” George said, a nonchalant look on his face but a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Hey!” He complained, finally slipping out of Sapnap’s arms when they began to loosen.

“You missed the whole mission, you dummy.”

He looked to Bad, eyebrows rising. “Wait, what? Really?”

“Yeah. I found Bad and Sapnap, and the next thing I know, there’s this huge guy standing over me telling me the password.” George explained as they started walking.

“You should’ve seen George’s face. He was so intimidated!” Sapnap cackled.

“I was not!” A splash of colour crept up his neck and across his cheeks, bright in comparison to his pale skin.

“Yeah you were.”

Leaving the two of them to bicker, Bad slipped back behind them to walk beside Clay.

“So where exactly did you go? We’ve been looking for you for a while.”

“I guess I just got lost in exploring. There’s just so many stalls, you know?”

“Yeah… I guess there are.” Something about the way that he was looking at him made his skin crawl. Something prying and suspicious.

But then his gaze had shifted away, and everything was back to normal again.

“C’mon, guys! Let’s go!” Sapnap called back to them when he realised they were lagging behind.

“Coming!”

-

“Hey.” Clay glanced over at the quiet voice next to him. As if mirroring their ride to the city, once again George had pulled his horse alongside him.

“Hi.” He quirked a brow, an amused smile tugging at his lips. But George didn’t look happy. Not like he was when they’d first left the city, the sun setting at their backs and trinkets in their pockets from a good day spent. He looked concerned.

“Are you okay?”

The question caught him off guard.

He should have known that George would’ve noticed that something was wrong. He’d just assumed… No. No, he’d just hoped he hadn’t. He didn’t know if he would be able to explain any of it to him. Not when he himself was just as confused.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He answered with what he hoped was a convincing tone.

He didn’t look like he bought it. “You just… You didn’t look fine earlier. Did something happen back there?”

George… George was too clever for his own good. Too observant. And it both impressed him and annoyed him to no end at times.

“I just felt a bit sick, I guess. But I’m all right now.”

He never liked lying to his friends, and not to George of all people. But what was he going to say to him?

_Yeah, it turns out my parents were murdered by our mentor. They were Assassins and I was kidnapped as a kid, raised to be a Templar. Oh also, I met my childhood best friend. Crazy day, huh?_

No. He couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet at least. Even if it made him feel terrible to keep this secret from him.

“Oh. Okay.” George didn’t press him any further, and for that he could kiss him.

He didn’t of course.

A thought struck him like lightning and his eyes lit up. “I completely forgot!” He would have laughed at the way the brunet at his side jumped at his sudden outburst, if he hadn’t been so distracted. He untied the large pouch at his waist and tossed it over without any warning. “Here you go, you nasty little freak.”

George caught it easily, pinning him with a narrow-eyed glare.

He peered inside and, in an instant, his expression changed again. He flashed him a grin. “Apples! Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He tried to brush it off coolly, but couldn’t help the way his chest puffed up at his gratitude.

“I have something for you too, actually.” He said, storing the apples away and searching around in his pockets.

“You do?”

“Yep. I just also forgot about it until now.” A quiet ‘aha!’ later and George was sitting upright again, hand clenched into a fist. “Give me your hand.”

Amused, he held out his arm, palm facing up towards the rapidly darkening sky. George placed his fist over his hand.

“Ta-da!” He dropped the item onto his palm with a dramatic flourish.

Clay immediately pulled it closer to look at it.

In his hand lay a simple necklace. A chain attached to the face of a snarling wolf, the whole thing gleaming silver. It’s eyes sparkled with the bright blue of two little jewels, winking at him in the dim light. Tiny but intricate detailing decorated its head, twisting and curving like it was real fur. It was beautiful. It would also make a very clear point to anyone who saw it.

“You’ve always reminded me of a wolf, you know?” George started to explain himself hesitantly. Unsure about the lack of a verbal response. “You’re like… It’s kinda scary how good you are when you… you know, you hunt me or the others down in practise. You’re like a wolf. A big… dumb wolf.” He knew that he was just insulting him because he was embarrassed, and the knowledge of that led to his cheeks hurting with how widely he smiled. “So yeah. I guess when I saw that I just thought of you. You don’t have to keep it if you don’t like it. It’s not a big deal.”

“No-George! I love it!” He cooed affectionately. He watched the way he looked to the side, suddenly as if to hide his face from his view. What he couldn’t hide was the bright red that adorned his cheeks, visible to him even though he was looking away. Fondness tugged at his heart. “Thank you, I love it.” When he finally looked back around again he made a pointed show of slipping the chain around his neck and letting the pendant hang heavy and warm on his chest. “I really do love it.”

George scoffed and turned his head forward. “Whatever.” He didn’t mention the fact that he could see the pleased smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.

He didn’t need to.


	2. Chapter II

Focused green eyes flicked across the shelves, taking in the names of every book one by one. He’d been looking for the past half an hour for _anything_ that might tell him more about his family. About his parents.

For so long he had wanted to know more. He had wanted the truth. And for years it had been hidden from him, torn out of his grasp every time he had even a smidgen of hope.

Now he suddenly knew too much.

He’d spent the previous night tossing and turning in his bed. His thoughts were too loud. Too panicky. Too _much._

Despite trying his hardest, he’d only managed to fall asleep in fits and bursts.

He would sink into an exhausted state of unconsciousness, only to wake up with the smell of smoke in his nose too soon afterwards.

By the time the sun was up, he was still awake and drenched in a cold sweat. It was a miracle he hadn’t woken any of the other’s up during the night. A welcome miracle for sure. He knew that the other recruits would have gotten another reason to dislike him if he had, and the friends he shared a room with would’ve been more than a little concerned.

But luck was on his side, and for that, he was grateful.

He’d slipped out when the others began to stir, not wanting for George or Sapnap to see him in the state he was in.

Dishevelled and dark bags hanging heavy under his eyes from a lack of sleep.

The only comfort he found was in the wolf on his chest. He hadn’t taken it off since it had been given to him, and he wasn’t planning on taking it off any time soon anyway.

He trailed the pads of his fingers across the smooth spines, feeling closer and closer to giving up with every shelf he passed. He knew that somewhere in the library there were books on the Templar families. Books showing the family trees and histories of all the famous families involved in the Templars and their allies. Dozens and dozens of families had their histories written and stored in this place. And if his parents were well known Templars as Johnson said they were, they’d have a book too.

The hard part was actually finding it.

“Clay?”

He almost leapt out of his skin, whirling around to see Johnson standing behind him, watching him curiously.

His mouth went dry.

He hadn’t seen Johnson since yesterday.

Since before he found out that he was responsible for the death of his parents.

This was a man he’d respected. The man he would’ve thrown himself into battle for. Part of him wanted to believe that maybe Techno had been lying to him.

But the other part of him knew better. It all just… added up. And unless Techno had been an incredible actor, he was telling the truth.

He cleared his throat, trying his best to calm himself down again. He wasn’t in any danger… Though his racing heart told him otherwise. He swallowed thickly.

“You-You scared me, sir.” He admitted, hating how his voice shook with his uncertainty.

Johnson eyed him, expression indecipherable. “Apologies.” He finally said, shifting his gaze to the bookshelf he hovered in front of. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have training now?”

“Well I-uhh… I was just…” He was stammering through his words badly. He knew it, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t expected to be caught, and not by his mentor of all people.

“You’re not ditching, are you?” His words were so disapproving that even though he was still incredibly wary of him, he couldn’t help but still feel guilty.

“Uhh… No. No, of course not. I just-”

“ _Clay_.” He couldn’t help but gulp at the stern sound of his voice. “What are you doing here?”

He’d never been a good liar. George had told him so many times already. How could he have hoped that he would be able to convince Johnson?

“I… I was looking for my family book.” He ducked his head slightly, heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t want to look at the Templar. Didn’t want to see whatever came across his face at the admittance.

“Family book…” He repeated slowly. “Now why would you do that?”

“I’ve just been thinking about them lately I guess… My parents. I thought if I could find the book, I’d learn more about them.” Not quite a lie, but not fully the truth either. He could work with this.

Johnson sighed heavily. “I’ve told you everything there is to know about them already. What more could you possibly want to know?”

Everything there is to-

_The fucker._

He clenched his jaw, shoving down the anger that came bubbling to the surface. The sheer _audacity_ Johnson had, to claim he’d told him everything.

How had he not seen how suspicious this all was before? How suspicious _he_ was? It was so blindingly obvious that it made his skin crawl. Was he really that naïve?

“I-I don’t know. Maybe… What they were like. What our family name was. What their names were.”

“Clay, listen to me.” His whole body stiffened when a large hand squeezed his shoulder, the grip tight enough that he knew he wouldn’t be able to pull away if he tried.

 _Don’t touch me,_ the beast inside him snarled. His eyes flashed with his anger, though his head was still bowed so it would not be seen.

“You don’t need to know about your past. Aren’t you happy here?” He pressed, voice honeyed and gentle. Though there was something about it, the slight edge to it, that sounded almost… threatening. “ _We_ are your family. This is your home. Do you understand?” The grip tightened, almost painfully so. He wouldn’t be surprised if his fingers left bruises afterwards.

At his stubborn silence, Johnson lifted his other hand to tilt his head up by the chin. “Look at me.” Clay fought to keep his face blank as their eyes met. Cold and grey and sinister. “Do you understand?” He asked again, the warmth in his voice dissipating with his frigidity.

“Yes, sir.” He gritted out.

Johnson pulled away entirely at that, folding his hands behind his back. “Good. I expect you’ll drop this now?” While it was phrased like a question, he knew it was far from one.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. Now go join the others in training.”

He didn’t say anything as he turned and left, passing through the rows and rows of old books until he could no longer feel that icy stare on his shoulders.

He slipped outside, ignoring the sounds of swords clashing and metal on metal in the distance. But, unlike he had been ordered to, he started walking in the completely opposite direction.

That conversation just proved it.

Johnson was keeping things from him.

And there was only way one he’d be able to find out the truth:

Techno.

Again he noticed that luck was on his side, because he encountered not a single person on his way to the stables. And once he cautiously peeked his head inside, he realised the place was just as barren. The only occupants were the lines of calm horses kept in the stalls.

He knew he had to be quick about this.

Heaving a saddle up into his arms, he made his way over to his usual horse. The mare lifted her head curiously when he entered the stall, still slowly munching on some hay. But other than that, she didn’t take much notice of him. He didn’t mind. It made it easier for him to saddle her up, after all. Even when he had to pull the bridle over her head.

“Good girl.” He murmured, patting her on her neck absently as he finished up. He probably hadn’t done it as best as he could, but he was in a hurry. At any moment someone could walk in on him and catch him.

He pulled his hood low over his head; an added piece of protection in case anyone _did_ spot him.

He swung the door open and led her out, hurrying her as much as she could without making too much noise. As soon as they were out of the stables, he swiftly climbed up and once he was secure on the saddle, he kicked her forward. She obeyed his will without any fuss, immediately going straight into a trot, then a gallop.

He had to get out of the grounds as soon as he could. Even if that meant making a bit more noise than he wanted to. He didn’t seem to have any reason to worry though, because once again there was no one in sight. No one at all.

He had to remember to thank whatever god was on his side today for getting such a clean escape.

Hopefully his luck would carry on and Johnson wouldn’t find out he’d left at all.

He didn’t know what would happen if he did… He just knew it wouldn’t be good.

-

He looked around cautiously, slowly lowering his hood to be able to see better. He had found the same alley pretty quickly, despite the marketplace almost being a maze. It wasn’t hard to remember the place his world had gotten turned on its head.

“You made it!” Techno’s voice came, both relieved and ecstatic at the same time. He turned on his heel, watching as the pink haired man practically appeared from the shadows. How did he do that?

“Yeah… I’m here.” He crossed his arms over his chest. Partly to look intimidating, and partly for his own comfort. “I don’t think I can stay too long though. I’m not supposed to be out as it is.”

Techno obviously noticed his discomfort, because his expression softened and he nodded in understanding, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Okay. I just wanted to show you something, if that’s alright with you?”

It was nice of him to ask, even if he knew that Clay probably would have said yes to anything, as long as it gave him the answers he was desperate for.

He inclined his head in answer; a silent response that Techno understood immediately.

“Come on, then.” He said quietly, taking a step out into the marketplace again.

Clay almost lost him in the thick throng of people, but his bright hair was enough to guide him. That and the fact that he was tall enough to be able to keep an eye on him. If he were George’s height, he definitely would have struggled more. Pushing through the crowd, he followed behind Techno.

He felt as though people were watching him. Eyes glared at him from the shadows and people turned to look at him as he passed. As if they all knew he wasn’t meant to be here.

But no, it had to be his imagination. No one knew he was here. He was just another stranger in the crowd.

To his surprise, the place he was taking him to wasn’t anywhere in the city. The two of them had gotten their horses and rode out into the forest, taking thin, windy paths through the trees that he probably would never have known existed, if not for his guide. The two of them were silent during the trip, save for the few comments traded every so often. It was… awkward, to say the least.

Techno kept trying to make conversation and get to know him more, but it was hard. For the both of them.

Clay wasn’t comfortable around him yet, not like he was with George and Sapnap and Bad. They might’ve been friends once, but he was too young to remember any of their six or seven year-long friendship.

Not to mention the fact that he could feel anxiety’s talons clawing its way up inside of him. Every time he looked up at the sky, the sun was travelling further and further across the blue screen. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if they noticed he was gone.

He was sure his friends had realised something was up by now, he just hoped that the high ranked Templars hadn’t noticed yet. But with every minute that passed, he knew the odds of that happening were decreasing more and more.

“We’re here.” A murmur tugged him out of his silent worry, and he looked to Techno.

“Where exactly is ‘here’?” He couldn’t help but ask. He’d been promised answers, and all he had gotten so far was a too-long trip to god knows where.

Again he didn’t receive an answer, much to his chagrin.

A moment later when they emerged from the edge of the forest and out into the open he understood why.

The ruins of what once must have been a magnificent house loomed before them. The walls-or what was left of them-were charred and scorched, most of them having collapsed or burnt away. Years of disuse led nature to take its toll on the abandoned structure. Weeds and grass grew high over the grounds. Vines crept up along the blackened walls. Thick outgrowths of bushes scattered around, colourful flowers blooming between the luscious leaves.

It was a bizarre mixture between devastated and teeming with life. But it was… beautiful, in a way.

Beautiful to see that even in the midst of the destruction, life could carry on. Things could flourish, even in the darkest of times.

Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed Techno dismounting his horse. Going on foot now, it seemed. He followed his lead, tying the reins to a nearby tree when the other did the same, and trailed after him quietly.

The grass went up past his knees, forcing them to slowly pick their way through the overgrowth. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through the thin green blades as they walked through high sections, shifting his eyes from the nature around him and to the mostly destroyed building they were approaching. Neither of them spoke, though Techno did keep looking back at him. As if expecting something from him.

What exactly was he expecting? He had no idea.

“Watch your step. The wood is old. You never know when something might break.” The other male warned him. His voice was oddly… subdued. It had been throughout their ride here, but now it was more so. He sounded unhappy.

Why?

The two of them approached the remains of what obviously used to be the front doors, both carefully watching where they were going and keeping an eye out for particularly treacherous areas. From what he could see, the doors looked like they used to be big, with carved metal working as dramatic, but eye-catching handles. While now they hung from their hinges in pieces, the wood rotted from rain and age, he knew that in their prime they must’ve been big and sturdy.

Now… now they were sad. A ghost of their former glory.

Beyond them lay a dark hallway which Techno stepped into without any hesitation.

He moved to follow, automatically reaching out a hand to brush his hand across the rusted handles as he passed them.

He startled and froze in place, palm cold against the metal.

He had done it like it was natural to him.

Like he had done it hundreds of times before.

…Had he done it before?

With a new sense of perception he lifted his eyes up, taking in the huge desolate structure once more.

Before his very eyes, white patterned walls rose up in place of the old, cracked ones, gleaming and proud in the lights of candles and lamps. The hallway shifted from damp and decayed to warm and familiar. A rich green carpet lay out instead of the singed and crumbled thing that might’ve once been the same thing.

“Is this…” His voice faltered with emotions he didn’t realise were surfacing. “Was this my house?”

Techno looked back at him, eyes sorrowful. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

There was a lump in his throat that he just couldn’t ignore as he looked around the place that he had once called home. A place he only remembered in glimpses and flashes, but still felt so familiar to him. Even as destroyed as it was.

“And _he_ did this?” He didn’t have to mention a name for him to know who he was talking about.

The man responsible for… _This._

The pink haired male nodded wordlessly.

He should’ve been angry. He should’ve been furious, howling to the winds, claws aching to be dipped in blood.

But right now?

All he felt was hollow.

He’d been ripped out of his own life without having any say to it. His home burnt to the ground. His parents slaughtered… because of what? The fact that they were on opposite sides of a secret war?

It wasn’t fair.

None of this was fair.

He slowly trudged down the hallway, watching silently as he slid his fingers across the corroded wall. Black scorch marks and mould scarred the once beautiful patterns. The original details were still vaguely visible in some random patches, though the wallpaper was faded and peeling.

Even years of on-again, off-again rain couldn’t wash away the acrid stench of smoke. It filled his senses, overwhelming and sickening at the same time. He knew no matter how hard he tried, the smell wouldn’t be going away any time soon.

They stepped out into a large room where sunlight filtered down through the collapsed ceiling, creating an almost perfect spotlight around them. Clearly no one had been here for a while, because with every step they took, dust flew up around them. His nose itched unpleasantly. He had to push down the urge to sneeze.

He hesitated as he looked around, floorboards creaking painfully beneath his feet. The remainders of a brick fireplace sat at the opposite end of the room, though he knew it wasn’t the cause of this particular fire.

The room was devoid of any semblance of warmth. He knew rationally that before all of this, it must’ve felt welcoming and lived in. Now? Now it was a mess of charcoal-turned walls and burnt furniture.

It was familiar in a way that stung, despite him not recognising everything with the state it was in. He remembered an armchair sitting in the corner, one that he recalled being soft to touch and more than comfortable enough to spend hours in. A painting hung on the wall, the oil cracked and faded from both the heat and the rot. Half of the image was indistinguishable as it was with the burn marks that marred it. He could vaguely make out the gently smiling faces of two people that looked too familiar for it to be a coincidence. And between the smiling couple sat a cheerful young child. His eyes weren’t visible through the decay, though he knew that if they were, he would see green staring back at him.

It was him.

Those were his parents.

He reluctantly tore his eyes away from them to instead look at his companion.

Techno had stopped walking already, staring up at the painting solemnly.

“Why did you take me here?” He finally broke the silence, voice small in a room so large and empty.

He turned to look at him. “I… I thought you might want to see all of… this.” He gestured a hand around tiredly. “I know you must be confused about everything that’s happening. I just thought that maybe this would help.”

“…Tell me about my parents. Please.”

“They were good people, Clay.” He started off, crossing his arms, as if for comfort. “Your mom was one of the warmest, nicest people I knew. And your father was so brave.” A faraway look entered his eyes. “They were some of the best Assassins around. They always fought for what was right, you know? They were heroes.” Their eyes met. “They loved you. And no matter what, they always wanted what was best for you. I remember them hoping you would follow in their footsteps one day. They wanted you to continue their legacy.”

“And you?” He asked.

“Me?”

“What are you? Where do you stand in all of this?” He suspected. Of course he did, Techno wasn’t exactly subtle if he was trying to hide it. But he hadn’t known for sure.

The look on his face told him everything before his words even got to.

“I’m an Assassin in training.”

Ah… His suspicions were confirmed.

He swallowed thickly, looking from the painting and back to the other male again slowly.

“All my life, I thought… I thought that Assassins were evil. That Templars were just trying to create peace, and the Assassins didn’t want that. I was… I _am_ a Templar.” He admitted softly. “I just… I don’t know what is right anymore.”

To his surprise, he didn’t seem to blame him for being a Templar, nor did he look angry at him for admitting so. He thought that he would hate him. After all, he’d spent years training to kill Assassins.

All he saw was… regret.

“The Templars want control.” Techno explained. “They believe that to have a perfect world, they need full control over mankind. That mankind was created to serve. If they succeed, no one will ever have free will again.”

He felt sick to his stomach.

 _That_ was what he’d been working towards?

A world where people were shepherded like sheep under the Templar reign?

“And the Assassins?” He got out through the tightness of his throat.

“We fight for the survival of freedom. We know that peace is a gradual process. When mankind learns tolerance and understanding, _then_ we will have a perfect world. Not through force.”

“They… They never told us that. They taught us that they wanted peace, they never said…”

A newfound sense of understanding dawned across Techno’s face, before his expression hardened with a barely concealed anger. He didn’t think it was aimed towards him in particular though.

“Templars are liars and murderers. They obviously kept the truth from you because they didn’t want you to turn on them if you disagreed. They manipulate and use people to get what they want. ‘Stay your blade from the flesh on an innocent.’ That’s the first of our three tenets. The Templars have no such vow.”

Clay couldn’t even _try_ to hide his dismay.

“Why did Johnson kill my parents?” He asked, running a hand over his face. He ignored the way his hands tremored.

“They kept getting in his way, foiling his plans. He didn’t like that. So he tracked them down and…” He trailed off, face twisting.

He swallowed thickly. “How?”

“Clay, I don’t think-”

“ _How_?” He pressed firmly, voice quivering audibly. “I’ve known nothing for _years._ I need to know now.”

Sad eyes scanned across his face, as if searching for something. Finally he exhaled slowly and lowered his head. “He ambushed them. He and some Templars came in when they were sleeping and they…” He worked through something in his throat before continuing. “They stabbed them. Over and over.” Something painful sliced through his heart. “Then they set the house on fire. By the time my parents saw the smoke, it was too late. They found their bodies still in their beds. You were nowhere to be found.”

He didn’t realise his eyes were wet until he was automatically reaching an arm up to roughly wipe them away with his sleeve.

“I’m sorry, Clay.” He apologised, his voice just as weak as his own with his emotions.

 _‘It’s fine.’_ He wanted to say.

He couldn’t though.

It _wasn’t_ fine.

His parents had been murdered in cold blood, in their own beds. He’d been stolen and raised by people whose ideals meant that everyone would be forced to kneel beneath one rule. He’d been lied to for years and years, manipulated into thinking that they were fighting for what was right.

He dropped his eyes to the floor.

Something glinted beneath a gap in the cracked wood beneath his foot.

He frowned, pressing the tip of his boot against the floor. The floorboard shifted and tilted with the sudden added weight. Unable to deny his curiosity, he knelt down, fingers sliding along the sides of the board. He pulled it up and tossed it to the side, where it broke on impact with a dull _snap_.

In a little compartment beneath the floor lay a silver chest gleaming in the dim light. Splotches of rust and soot decorated the otherwise shining metal. What caught his attention the most however, was the name, ‘Clay’ indented in it in flowing, looping scrawls.

He picked it up, absently noticing the surprising weight of the object, and set it down on the ground before him. He glanced up at Techno in silent question, though he looked just as baffled about it as he felt.

He lifted the clasp and pulled the lid open, the stubborn hinges protesting profusely and making it harder than it should’ve been to do so. He ignored it and let the lid drop back.

The inside of the box was, somehow, completely preserved.

Green velvet lined it, though the contents were much more interesting than that.

He lifted up what appeared to be a leather gauntlet of sorts, turning it over in his hands curiously. The other side revealed a mechanical contraption, silver details curling across delicately.

A matching one still sat in the box. A set maybe?

A gasp from behind his shoulder made him jump slightly. “Is that…?” He glanced at Techno who was staring down at the box, wide eyed and slack jawed.

“What?” He asked. “Do you know what this is?”

The teenager nodded fervently and reached a hand out. He then paused and sheepishly looked at Clay. “Er… May I?”

“Yeah, sure.” He handed the gauntlet over. He expected him to take it and be done with it.

What he didn’t expect was for him to grab his wrist with his free hand and pull his arm forward.

“Hey!” He snapped, tugging his arm back.

“Sorry, sorry, I just-Stay still. You’re fine.” He looked… excited almost. The bright gleam in his eyes is what made him pause in his panicked struggle.

He had no idea what Techno wanted, but… He trusted him.

So he just silently let him push his sleeve up, exposing his forearm to the damp air. He pulled the gauntlet apart and he realised that they were actually two separate pieces that slotted into each other seamlessly.

The pink haired teen slipped the gauntlet over his hand and down his arm, moving so easily that he could’ve been an expert. Whatever the case, it was clear he was practiced with doing this. He laced it up in place, tightening it until it fit snugly. He placed the other part of the gauntlet over the first, buckling it around until it fit perfectly and making sure it remained steady in its place.

It felt… It felt comfortable. Like it was more part of his body than an added weight.

“It fits you perfectly.” He spoke again, offering him a smile. “Now just... just flex your hand like this.” He moved his hand back as an example. “Just mind your fingers.”

Mind his fingers?

Cautiously he flicked his wrist back like he was shown.

He gasped, recoiling back as a thin blade sprung up from the gauntlet with a discreet slide of metal on metal. He stared wide eyed at the gleaming blade resting before his palm. He turned it over a few times, examining the contraption closely.

“What is this?” He breathed, awed at how advanced it was. He’d never seen anything like it.

“It’s a Hidden Blade. They’re the Assassin’s signature weapon.” Techno explained, sitting back on his heels. “I haven’t even gotten mine yet, I’ve just trained with them before.”

“Okay… And how do you put it back in again?”

“Right. You just do this with your hand, and it should go back in.” He moved his wrist again pointedly.

Clay did the same, watching intently as the blade quietly sunk back into the gauntlet in barely a second. “Woah.”

“I know, right?”

Leaving the blade strapped onto his arm, he picked up the next item in the box. It was a small clay sphere with a cork plugged into the top.

“What do you think this is?”

Techno leaned over his shoulder to peer at it, head tilting to the side. “Looks like a smoke screen bomb to me.” He mused. “We use them to distract enemies, or to get away or hide in. You’re supposed to throw it on the floor; smoke goes everywhere.”

That’s… interesting. He pocketed it without thinking, before pushing past the two other identical bombs. The next item he found was a small golden key. He had no idea what it could be for, so he placed it back down again. He picked up a sleek gold signet ring instead, curiously looking over it. The letter ‘D’ was imprinted on it in bold curves.

Finally, he took the last thing out of the box. It was a letter, folded up and sealed with a green wax stamp.

Flipping it over, he saw his name written in a beautiful handwriting.

“I guess it’s for me then.” At Techno’s nod of encouragement, he peeled it open, slipping a thin piece of paper out of the envelope. The page was discoloured with age, and the texture was smooth and almost brittle beneath his fingers. He worried if he were not careful with handling it, he’d accidentally tear it.

He unfolded it gently and began to read. His heart tugged painfully at just the first few words.

_My dearest Clay._

_If you’re reading this, it means that it’s your birthday and you’re finally old enough for these._

_I’m sure that time must have flown since you were a baby... The day that you were born was the happiest day in my life. And I know that you will have grown up to be a great man. You are destined for great things, that I know. Some day you will be better than us all._

_For your eighteenth birthday I give you these: Your own Hidden Blades, an assortment of bombs, our families signet ring, and a key to your very own house._

_I know you will use these things with honour and make us proud. You already have, my little Dream._

_Your father and I love you more than anything._

_Happy birthday, son._

_Love, mom._

A drop of something cold and wet splattered down onto the page and, with a start, he realised he was crying.

The letter fell from his limp hand, fluttering to the floor slowly.

A warm arm wrapped around his shaking shoulders and without hesitating he turned into it, burying his face in Techno’s shoulder. He clung on to him for dear life. He didn’t know how long the two of them stayed in that position, Techno holding him while he sobbed into him. A silent comfort through what he could only describe as a breakdown.

By the time his tears had run dry, his limbs were stiff, and a wet patch stained the other teen’s shirt. He slowly gathered up the strength he needed and pulled away, gaze glued to the ground.

He didn’t want to look him in the eyes. He didn’t want to see whatever resided in that too-expressive stare of his. He didn’t want to see his pity.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes and cheeks, wiping the tear tracks away.

He wished he felt more numb after crying so much. Instead, he only felt painfully empty.

The hand on his shoulder remained in place even though they were no longer hugging.

“I’m sorry.” He apologised in a quiet murmur.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Clay.” Techno said, gentle and reassuring in a way that made his heart ache just a tiny bit less. “I know this must be hard for you. I… I can only imagine what you’re going through.” The hand on his shoulder gave a comforting squeeze.

He winced slightly at the dull throb of pain it caused, the skin sensitive. As if he’d touched a bruise. But he had no reason to be bruised, so-

Johnson.

Johnson had caused it.

He snapped his head up, stomach sinking to his toes when he realised just how far the sun had fled across the sky.

He was late.

“I have to go.” He scrambled to his feet suddenly.

“Wait.” Techno stopped him with one word, unsteadily rising to his feet; his legs also clearly a bit stiff. “Don’t go back there.” He pleaded. “You know the truth now. You _know_ how dangerous they are.” He hesitated, glancing between him and the hallway that looked much darker now that the sun was no longer overhead. “Come with me instead.”

He chewed on his lip, red-rimmed eyes flickering across his face slowly. “I… I can’t. My friends are back there, I can’t just…” He trailed off.

“You don’t belong there. I know it. _You_ know it.”

He did know it.

But he couldn’t leave his friends behind. He couldn’t do it.

His face hardened with determination.

A plan flickered to life in his head.

“I’ll meet you tomorrow.” He promised. “Same time, same place.”

A relieved expression bloomed across his face. A smile, tentative but hopeful, curved at his lips. “Okay. Okay, I’ll be there.”

Before he could turn and leave, he was captured by another hug. “Be safe.” He whispered.

Clay melted into it, moving his arms around him to hug him back with a resolute promise of, “I will.”

They pulled apart quickly enough and he turned to leave, hurrying much more on the way out than he had on the way in.

He leapt out of the doors and raced to his horse, disturbing a flock of birds that were resting in the grass.

It was only halfway back to the mansion that he realised he was still wearing his Hidden Blade.

-

“Clay!” George exclaimed when he spotted him slipping into their shared room, relieved eyes wide and unhindered by his glasses, which sat next to his bed already, as they always did when he went to bed. “Where have you been? We’ve all been so worried about you! We thought-”

He darted forward and grabbed him by the arms, interrupting him mid-sentence. “George,” He panted. “You have to listen to me. Something happened and I-I need you to listen and trust me on this. It’s gonna sound insane, but-”

“Clay what’s going on? You’re scaring me.” He frowned, worry trickling over his face. He felt him touch his elbow gently, a tiny comfort for his clearly panicked friend. “Are you all right?”

If he wasn’t in such a frantic hurry to explain everything, would’ve been fondly touched by the gesture.

“I-”

The door burst open and he flinched back, spinning around.

He went cold.

Johnson stood in the doorway, gaze chilly and posture tense. “There you are, Clay. We’ve been looking for you.” He didn’t say anything. He _couldn’t_ through the tightness in his throat. “I think it’s time we had a little talk in my office, no?”

 _‘No.’_ He wanted to scream.

“Come on, then.” The Templar didn’t move from his spot, and it was clear that until he obeyed, he wouldn’t be leaving either.

He swallowed his panic down, catching George’s eyes. He looked confused.

He couldn’t blame him.

“I’ll tell you everything when I get back.” He whispered as he slunk past him.

“Clay-”

“I promise.”

George opened his mouth, as if to argue, but then closed it again. “Okay.” He breathed out, and let it go.

He didn’t look at Johnson while he left the room, though he did look back at George over his shoulder one last time. Then Johnson’s body blocked the way and he couldn’t see him anymore.

The walk to his office was in silence. Something ominous and cold sparked between them, tense in a way that he could never remember anything ever being before. It made his skin crawl. Not even the view of the sun setting over the horizon could make him feel any better about this.

Johnson slammed his door open, the wood cracking against the wall with a loud bang. He couldn’t help but jump at the noise. He was hesitant to even enter the office, but at the look the older man flashed him, he meekly stepped inside.

He jumped a second time at the door slamming shut again, looking back to see Emily next to the doorway, her signature crossbow in her hands. Just like Johnson, his combat teacher had an icy look on her face. He gulped, tentatively looking forward again to see him leaning over his desk, back to him.

When no one spoke, he decided to explain himself as best he could. Without giving anything away.

“Sir, I…”

“Where were you today?” His voice cracked like a whip that curled around him suffocatingly, squeezing tight. “I know you didn’t go to any of your training classes today.”

Shit.

“I was just running an errand for-”

Johnson spun around. “Stop lying to me!” He roared, heaving a crystal glass that just narrowly missed hitting him, and instead crashed and shattered against the wall behind him.

His heart jumped violently in his chest. “I-I’m not-” He stammered out, stumbling over his words in his sudden panic.

“You’ve been lying to me all day, haven’t you?” He advanced towards him, face red and splotchy with his rage.

He took a step back automatically and shook his head. The words got caught in his throat though.

“Even now you’re lying.” He scoffed, beady eyes narrowing. “I’ll give you _one_ more chance to tell me the truth, Clay.” He stopped in front of him, looming and imposing in a way that made him shrink down. “Where. Were. You.”

His mind raced, though he couldn’t find a single excuse that might convince him. He had to try something though, _anything_.

“I was in the woods-” A backhanded slap sent him collapsing back into the wall. He leaned heavily against it, head reeling and face stinging.

He’d just hit him.

He raised his eyes up, just in time to see the Templar towering over him. Then wide hands wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air supply.

A gasp escaped his throat and he immediately began to struggle against the grip.

It only grew tighter.

“S-Stop-” He wheezed, clawing at his arm desperately.

“I don’t like being lied to.” Johnson spoke smoothly. Almost like he wasn’t in the process of choking the life out of him. “I thought you of all people knew better. It really is disappointing…” He studied him with those piercing grey eyes of his. “I do wonder what’s gotten into you lately, Clay.” He squeezed pointedly, pulling out a keening noise from his abused throat. “But no matter. All we need is a little… _motivation_ to keep you from falling out of line again.”

His vision started going dark around the edges.

His arm moved before his brain even realised. In one smooth motion, he flexed his wrist and stabbed upwards.

His blade extended in a moment and slashed Johnson right across his arm.

With a loud swear the man dropped him and stumbled back, clutching onto his arm which was already bleeding profusely through his fingers.

Clay heaved at the air rushing into his lungs once more. Blinking the stars from his view he unconsciously lifted his arm up, baring his bloodied blade defensively at the man he had once thought of as his surrogate father.

“You little-” He growled, glaring at him with a hatred that made his eyes burn. “Where did you get that?” He demanded.

“From my parents.” He snarled breathlessly. “The ones you killed because they were Assassins!”

Johnson went quiet at that. His face didn’t change though. “So now you know the truth.” He stated. Bitter and spiteful. When he didn’t say anything, he continued. “The truth… That your parents were scum that deserved to die for what they did.”

Anger boiled beneath his skin, rising to the surface. His inner beast roared and clawed at its cage, frothing at the mouth for a chance to sink its fangs into his neck and _rip_ until nothing was left.

“I killed them like the pesky rats they were.” Johnson sneered.

He saw red. “You’re a murderer.” He spat, quivering with rage. He stepped forward, basking in the burning feeling of vicious smugness when he saw Johnson move backwards subtly. He was intimidated.

_Good._

“They deserved to die, Clay.” Johnson sneered.

He found himself ready to lunge in a fit of fury, when a quiet voice soothed in his ears,

_They were good people._

“They were cowards!” He raged.

_They were heroes._

“I saved you!”

_They wanted you to continue their legacy._

“You really think they loved you?”

_Your father and I love you more than anything._

“I did you a favour-”

“ _Liar_!” He howled.

Johnson’s eyes flickered from his face to behind him for a bare second then back again, but it was still enough for Clay to know something was up.

He realised his problem in the nick of time.

He’d forgotten about Emily.

He threw himself to the side just in time for a bolt to fly past him. It slammed into Johnson’s desk, smashing through the wood easily. He glared at his attacker, watching cautiously as she reloaded a new bolt in her crossbow, keeping a steady eye on him in return as well.

He glanced back at Johnson at the sound of a sword unsheathing. “It’s a shame we have to do this to you.” To his credit, Johnson did sound somewhat reluctant. But the look on his face promised that he wouldn’t hesitate where it counted. “You really could have gone far.”

As one, Emily let her bolt loose and Johnson lunged at him.

Clay twisted out of the way, just narrowly avoiding getting impaled by both weapons.

He did his best to fend off the onslaught of attacks, desperately fighting for his life against two older, more experienced people. He knew that Johnson himself was capable of cutting his head off in one go.

He wasn’t going to be able to beat them both.

But there was one way he could get out of this mess.

Backing away clumsily at another mighty swing of a sword, he slipped a hand into his pocket and brought out the one other item he had taken from his gift. The smoke screen bomb.

Not waiting even a second to think about it, he threw it down as hard as he could. It smashed open onto the ground.

A cloud of thick smoke exploded out before him, filling the room with an overwhelming white screen, blinding him and choking him all at once. It made his eyes sting terribly. The only solace he got from using the bomb was the fact that he knew the other two would also be suffering just as badly.

Using this time to escape, he blindly stumbled towards the door. As soon as he felt the handle beneath his fingers he yanked hard and burst through the opening. He didn’t wait for his eyes to clear up, he just raced down the hall, letting muscle memory guide him out of this place.

The darkness of night greeted him kindly, promising safety in its shadowy embrace. He took off towards the forest’s edge, too much in a blind panic to really think about where he was going. He just knew that he had to get away.

He slipped past the treeline just in time for an outraged cry to erupt from behind him in the distance.

He ran as fast as his long legs could carry him, weaving and leaping around the abundance of trees that he usually loved picking his way through. His breath came in short, uneven puffs that clouded the air in front of him. At least the cold air had stopped his eyes from tearing up further.

“Shoot him!” Johnson’s voice echoed around behind him, making it impossible to pinpoint their exact location.

He ducked beneath a branch, heart jarring in his chest when the whistling sound of a crossbow shooting appeared, and the crack of a bolt slammed into a nearby tree. They were close behind him.

Blissful silence followed, save for the crunch of his footsteps on dead leaves and the gasping pants of his breath. The trees reached their forgiving fingers out for him as he passed, cooing words of encouragement in the form of rustling leaves and flowing breezes. Urging him to carry on or he’ll forever find his rest in this forest.

He didn’t want that.

So he ran.

He ran until his lungs were burning and he breathed fire with every inhale, and then he ran even further.

Despite knowing that right now it was life and death, he couldn’t help but think of how this reminded him so much of those Manhunt games he and the others had played so many times before.

Every so often he thought that he would see a familiar face burst out from between the trees to ambush him, gleaming weapons in hand and grins shining in the darkness. The only faces he actually saw were the occasional wild animal that he startled, darting away and disappearing into the undergrowth.

Once or twice he could swear he heard a friend’s voice calling out for him, challenging and taunting him from the distance, _‘C’mere, Clay!’._ It was only ever the wind though.

And he truly believed that he felt someone breathing down his neck at points, that he would see dark lensed glasses reflecting his own terrified face back at him every time he looked behind him. Except every time he looked, no one was there.

His friends weren’t here.

This wasn’t a friendly game.

If he lost this hunt, he sure as hell was going to lose a lot more than just his pride.

He would lose his life.

The ground dropped away in front of him.

He scrambled to a stop at the last moment he could, remembering _just_ in time that there was a steep decline before him. One that if he fell into, he might break a limb or two. Then he would be a sitting duck for sure. His heart jittered pathetically, blood rushing through his ears. Whether from fear, adrenaline, or just because that was a close call, he didn’t quite know. It didn’t matter though, not when the feeling was all that was keeping him going.

He peered over the edge, taking a moment to catch his breath as quickly as he could while trying to pick out the best path he could take to quickly and safely get down.

How long had he been running for? He wasn’t sure, but it felt like forever. His legs were jelly beneath him, but he refused to let them collapse. He had to carry on. He took a cautious step forward, holding onto the nearest tree to keep himself from slipping down the steep hill. His eyes landed on a path he could take to get down quickly without hurting himself and he took a step forward.

Pain cracked through him like a whip of white-hot lightning.

His body spasmed in place, mouth falling opening in a soundless gasp.

Something wet with his own blood jutted out from his stomach, sharp and gleaming, though his vision swam too much for him to identify what it was.

The next thing he knew, he was falling.

He must have blacked at some point during the tumble down, because when he opened his eyes again he was at the bottom of the slope, lying limp and unmoving on his side. New cuts and bruises decorating his body.

Everything tingled with jolts of mind numbing, all-consuming pain.

Blood slowly trickled down his stomach from where he lay, unable to move. They fell onto the damp forest floor in thick droplets, spreading out in a neat little puddle beneath his still form.

 _‘It looks almost black’_ , he mused through a wall of pain induced haze.

Every wheezing breath he took was a shock of fire in him.

He shifted, arching his back when his stomach smarted badly.

Agony.

That was probably the best word for what he felt.

He moved his head down to see what exactly he’d been hit by, numbly staring at the object in question.

A crossbow bolt.

Of course.

The stomping of shoes on the ground warned him of approaching danger. He noticed it, but barely.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shakily exhaling.

He had to get up.

He couldn’t die here.

Techno would be waiting for him.

George would be waiting for him.

_He had to get up._

Gritting his teeth hard enough to almost crack them, he forced himself up onto his knees.

He almost passed out at the effort, white washing over his vision.

He didn’t know if his ears were ringing or if he had died and that was just the sound of angels singing to him. He kinda hoped it was the latter at this point. He hurt too much to care.

He whimpered but forced himself up further, using the closest tree as a crutch. He wobbled on his feet unsteadily, numb legs shaking. But at the sound of leaves crunching nearby, he pushed past all of it and drove himself forward.

He stumbled through the forest, one hand nursing the arrow still sticking out of him grotesquely, and the other pressing against the trees that he passed for support, leaving bloodied handprints in his wake.

The world swayed and blurred together in front of him in a swirl of dark colours, slowing him down even further. A few times he caught himself almost bumping into trees and branches. Other times he realised he was about to only when it was too late, and he was already bouncing off of them pathetically.

Darkness tinged the edges of his vision more and more the longer he carried on for.

Every staggered step jolted his wound, fresh blood constantly dripping down his stomach and legs. He couldn’t even feel his legs properly anymore. Fatigue weighed heavily on his bones and tugged his eyelids down, begging him for sleep. His feet dragged along the ground like a wounded animal, kicking up leaves and dirt in a trail behind him.

Still he couldn’t stop. He knew he couldn’t.

But when his foot got caught on an upturned root he fell, crashing down to his hands and knees with a dry, broken sob.

He _couldn’t_ continue any longer.

He collapsed onto his side, trembling and exhausted and in pain. _So much pain._

He could feel his eyes starting to close.

He was… tired.

So he hadn’t made it out...

It wasn’t fair, was it? He’d been doomed to begin with.

And now… now he wouldn’t get to see George ever again. He had broken his promise, hadn’t he?

_‘I’m sorry, George.’_

As his eyes finally closed, a flash of pink swam across his view.

Though he was too far gone to notice.

-

He cracked his eyes open.

The room was dark, pleasantly so. He didn’t think he could’ve handled anything brighter.

The only light source being the exotic lamp that swung in and out of his vision, stained glass casting pretty shapes and colours on the ceiling. How long did he lay there, watching it move? He didn’t know. The minutes seemed to bleed into one another. He could have been staring at it for hours, for all he knew.

His head hurt.

His _everything_ hurt…

Where was he?

He let his head loll to the side, unable to do much else, and waited blearily for his vision to come into focus again.

Someone sat beside him, head bowed down, and eyes closed; asleep. Despite the blurry wall he saw the world through, he could identify that hair anywhere.

“T…” He tried to swallow, but to no avail. His mouth was too dry and his throat too parched. “Te…” He almost whined in frustration. Anything more than a sigh was near impossible to force out. He had to try though. “Te… Techn… no…” His voice came out in a croaky, barely audible mess from who knows how long of lack of use.

“Oh… You’re awake.” A voice that was definitely _not_ Techno’s spoke up.

His mind wanted him to sit up and find out where the stranger was before he could hurt him.

His body however ached at just the thought of that.

Someone moved into his line of sight and he groggily looked up at them. A soft, concerned face met him. The man knelt before him. Dark blond hair framed his face and glasses perched on his nose, revealing warm, familiar eyes.

“W… W-Who…” He tried, cracked lips struggling to form even the simplest of words.

“Don’t strain yourself too much.” A kind voice reminded him. He seemed to understand what he was trying to say though, to his relief. “My name is Charles, but everyone calls me Grian. Your mother was my sister, Clay. I’m your uncle.”

 _What_?

He scanned his face, searching, a bit desperately, for any hint to see if he was lying. He didn’t find any though. He only saw that he was being genuine.

And the more he looked at him, the more he noticed the similarities between him and the portrait of his mom. The hair. The shape of his eyes.

He shifted his gaze past him after some silence. Grian followed his look, eyes crinkling at the sight of Techno fast asleep. He offered him a kind smile.

“I don’t know what you remember, but he’s the one that found you. He brought you here in a panic. Almost in tears. That boy has barely left your side in days.” He told him.

The knowledge of that made his heart clench. Then another train of thought slammed into him and his breath began to hitch.

“Th… Temp-plars, they… M-My friends…” He gasped, twitching when his breathing got too quick and a new wave of pain washed over him.

“Shhh, shhh.” Grian soothed, smoothing a hand over his hair gently. He quivered at the overwhelming feeling of comfort, body falling lax once again and his eyes slowly sinking shut. “We’ll talk more later, okay? You need to rest now.” He could feel tears trickling down his cheeks. He didn’t know if they were from pain or relief, but he couldn’t bring himself to care either way.

A low sigh breathed across the air between them. “You’re so grown up now… I’m sorry I let them take you.”

With the feeling of fingers in his hair and a reassuring voice in his ears, he slipped back into unconsciousness.

-

Far, far from them, someone else was crying too.

George stood before a burning pyre, one hand taken by Sapnap, and the other by Bad. All three of them shook with silent sobs, clinging on to each other for any comfort they could get at this point in time.

They’d all lost a friend. They were all suffering the aching feeling of grief tearing at their hearts.

None more so that George.

“Tonight we mourn the loss of one of our own.” Elias Johnson spoke, loud enough for all to hear. He too looked saddened, solemn face matching all the others gathered around for the funeral. “He was a good man. He was like a son to me. I always knew that Clay was destined for greatness… And now he has given his life for the cause.”

George bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut. A fresh wave of tears cascaded down his cheeks and he pressed his lips together to keep himself from letting out a hiccupping sob. He didn’t understand…

One day Clay was there with him. Trading jokes and giving each other gifts. Scaring him with his wolfish smile and making his heart skip a beat with that very same caring smile of his.

Then the next day he was gone.

He could still see his panicked face moments before he was called away. That was the last time he saw him… The last time he’d _ever_ see him.

 _“I promise.”_ He’d said.

 _‘Liar,’_ He thought bitterly. Not angry that he hadn’t kept his promise… Just angry that he wouldn’t be able to. Ever again.

Clay’s face burned into his eyelids, haunting him. His expression constantly morphing from affectionate and carefree to scared and teary-eyed.

He didn’t know which face he preferred to see.

Johnson had informed them all the morning after that he was dead.

He and Clay had had a fight and he ran off into the woods. Assassins ambushed him and cut him down where he stood. He’d had no chance against the slaughter.

He thought that after days of almost non-stop crying, he’d have run out of tears by now. That wasn’t the case though.

He forced himself to take a breath in, chest hitching violently.

He felt a reassuring squeeze on his hand from the similarly anguished friend at his side.

It wasn’t reassuring enough to fill the empty feeling inside of him.

“Lost, but not forgotten. We will forever remember him for his bravery and sacrifice.”

He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye…

George watched sparks fly into the sky from the flames, disappearing amongst the stars that twinkled down at him, uncovered by any clouds. Mocking him with their beauty and familiarity. He glared up at the dark sky, anger and grief warring inside of him, fighting for a place inside his hollow heart.

It. Wasn’t. Fair.

He shook where he stood, jaw clenched and a newfound fury blazing through his eyes. The flames of his resentment reflected the licking tongues of the fire before him, burning hot and dangerous.

_He would make them pay for this._

_All of them._

_‘They will pay for taking him away from me.’_

From across the fire, calculating grey eyes watched George. Something smug and cold at the sight of his wrath. Good. He could use that. He could nurture it and let it grow.

He kept the sorrowful mask on his face though. He would pretend to mourn for as long as he needed to. He had a plan, and the pieces of the puzzles were finally falling into place.

The Assassins would never know what hit them.


	3. Chapter III

“Come on. Is that the best you can do? I could do better in my sleep, and I don’t sleep.”

Dream grinned, twisting his wrist to loosen it up more while he circled the Assassin. His sword twirled in the air in response in a tight circle. He glowed smugly at the cautious step back his opponent took at the movement and the falter of his confident expression.

He, and all the other Assassins who faced him, knew to be wary of his blade during battle.

“You want the best I can do?” A challenge more than a question, eyes sparkling with the adrenaline of a fight.

“Bring it, Dream boy.”

He lunged, sword carving down through the air in a deadly arc. The sound of blades clashing filled the air as the two of them fought.

They stabbed, parried, blocked and sliced in a beautiful dance of blades, countering each other at every turn.

Dream pressed forward, slamming a knee up under his guard. It connected with his stomach harshly and the man gasped, immediately trying to gain some distance between them so he could recover. He didn’t let him though, throwing his entire weight behind a strike that nearly knocked his opponent right off of his feet when he tried to block it.

Using that to his advantage he struck again and again in rapid succession, driving him back even further. With a swing their swords met again, though with a twist of his hand he caught the edge of his blade with his own sword’s handle. He slid it down, the screeching of metal painfully loud in their proximity, and angled his sword. The two of them pushed against each other, locked in place. Neither wanting to give.

His opponent was sweating visibly, teeth gritted and soft grunts escaping him from the strain. They struggled for the upper hand, though neither of them gave way even slightly.

Now that they were so close, he could see the sureness that the other usually held had faded away, replaced by something more panicked. Panicked, but determined. Like a cornered animal.

Dream knew that look. It meant he had to finish the fight soon.

He stomped down _hard_ on his foot and, at the startled yelp and slight waver in his grip, shoved against him. His opponent stumbled backwards, tripping on his own feet. He made sure he lost his balance entirely by kicking his ankle in.

He buckled and fell back on his ass.

In a moment it was over.

Techno stared up at him, panting and flushed, but thoroughly defeated. The sword at his throat said just as much.

“Well done, you two.” A man named Mumbo praised with a clap of his hands, looking thrilled at their performance. He turned to address the small gathering of young teenagers clumped up around him. “And _that_ , young Assassins, is what you’re all working towards.” The recruits stared, wide eyed and awed, as Dream smiled and gave them a little cocky wave.

“You’re an ass.” Techno grumbled, though he still accepted a hand up when he offered one.

“An ass who kicked your ass.” He countered.

“You’re lame, Dream. You’re so lame. Why are we even friends, again?”

He blinked, highly amused by his lack of amusement. “Well, aren’t you happy today?”

With the way they were while sparring-both physically and verbally, one would swear they’d been fighting each other their entire lives.

So it would probably come as a surprise to anyone who watched them that it had been just over a year since they met for the first time.

More than a year since his life had been turned around and he’d taken an arrow to the stomach.

He remembered it like it was yesterday.

Waking up after days and days of being unconscious. Finding out he had an uncle. An Assassin uncle, nonetheless. Joining said Assassins Creed when he had finally healed up and recovered. And then after months and months of training, finally becoming a full-fledged Assassin.

He had already gone on a good deal of missions, despite him being newer to the cause than many others. He supposed because of the training he had gotten from the Templars he was ready sooner than most. It also didn’t hurt that his parents were apparently quite a big deal around here.

What had surprised his most though, was how well he and Techno had gotten on together. He had this dry sense of humour that tended to come off as more sarcastic than not, and a way of speaking that sounded like he was constantly insulting you. Dream had found it hilarious when he first realised how different he was compared to when they first met. The soft, understanding guy replaced by an Assassin with a quick tongue and an even quicker wit. That wasn’t to say he didn’t still have his soft moments, though.

He was probably the reason Dream had been able to continue on after everything went down. Without his gentle support, he didn’t know where he would be.

“Class, dismissed. You can have the rest of the day off.” A loud chattering replaced the otherwise quiet room and the kids immediately split up to go their own ways. Mumbo approached Techno and Dream, tucking his hands into the pockets of the fancy suit-jacket he always seemed to wear. “Thanks for the demonstration, boys. I’m sure those students were suitably impressed.” The skin around his eyes crinkled with his smile.

Mumbo had always been a bit of an enigma to Dream. While he had a face that almost always looked welcoming and a glorious moustache that he knew a lot of the male Assassins envied, he knew little to nothing about him.

He knew that he and his uncle were friends. Good friends.

He wasn’t an Assassin that went out into the field often, preferring to help out with strategies and focusing on bettering their knowledge in mechanic work. Countless new weapons and items that they used in battle were ones of his making.

He also knew that Mumbo Jumbo wasn’t his real name.

He had no place to judge him for that though, seeing as he too had chosen to forgo his real name in place of a name of his choosing. In fact, many Assassins had. Grian included. He’d even looked touched when he told him that he wanted to be called ‘Dream’ instead.

Apparently his mom’s nickname for him was one that his uncle knew and had used as well when he was a kid. When asked why that particular nickname, Grian had smiled and said, “Your mother and father always wanted a child. When they had you, it was a dream come true. You were their dream.”

He absolutely had _not_ teared up at that, thank you.

But he knew nothing else about the older man, and from what he’d heard, he preferred to keep it that way.

“It’s no problem, really.” Techno answered for them with a shrug, already over his grumbling at being beaten.

“Oh yeah, any time.” Dream folded his arms across his chest, smirking. “I’m always happy to show him his place.”

“You got lucky.” His friend scoffed.

“Nah. You just need to get good.”

He stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” He patted his shoulder, revelling in his silent outrage. “Sir.” He tipped his head politely at Mumbo as a goodbye, who did the same back at him, eyes glinting with his amusement. And with that he strode away, splutters coming from behind his retreating back.

“You watch yourself, Dream. One day I’m going to stab you for your sins against me.”

“You can try.” He flashed him a cheeky grin over his shoulder, then left the room before he could say anything else.

“Dream, hi!” A young voice greeted him as soon as he passed through the door. Bright eyes and blond mop of hair stared up at him. Seems he couldn’t even have ten seconds to himself anymore. Oh well.

“Hey Tommy.” He said with a quick smile. The Assassin-in-training followed him by his side as he walked, trailing along like a puppy. A pretty apt comparison, actually. The kid often reminded him of a puppy. Loud and in the way more times than not, but also endearingly loyal to a fault.

“That fight was really cool. _Really_ cool. The way you just attacked him was like-”

At some point Dream couldn’t help but drift off a bit. He was a good guy, he was. He just also happened to speak way too much sometimes. The only person he knew that could handle his rambling was his friend Tubbo.

“And that thing with your sword when you like locked your blades. That was really cool. Do you think you could teach me that?”

Dream glanced at him curiously. “You want _me_ to teach you? You know I’m not a great teacher.”

“Yeah, but you’re a great fighter! And if I learn how to do some of the things you can do, then I’ll be a great fighter too!” From what he knew about Thomas, the kid already was one hell of a fighter. They’d only ever sparred once, but even then he knew that when he was older and he had more training, he would be a terrifying opponent to face.

And who knows. Maybe one day he’ll even be able to beat _him_.

“I don’t know… I don’t think the older Assassins would be happy if they find out I’ve been teaching you stuff you’re not ready for.”

“Oh… I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. You’re afraid that if I know how to do that, I could kick your ass!” He claimed haughtily.

Dream gave him an unimpressed look. “Sure. _That’s_ it.”

A good fighter… A not so good sport. He hoped that the arrogance and pride the younger boy had was only a product of just that: his young age. Overconfidence would lead to your downfall more times than not. Especially in a fight. When he was older, he hoped he would get over that.

Dream had, after all.

Mostly.

“I knew it.”

Tommy suddenly stopped in place and gasped, reaching a hand out to grab his sleeve.

“What?” Dream asked as his feet paused in place, briefly concerned at the sudden change in attitude.

“Look over there.” He hushed.

He followed his gaze, almost concerned at the way he was behaving. But all he saw was a few Assassins talking with each other. Most of them he vaguely recognised, but one face he didn’t know at all.

“What am I looking at?” He finally asked, ignoring the loud inhale that followed his words.

“What do you mean what are you looking at? That’s Wilbur Soot!”

He gave him a curious look. “Am I supposed to know him, or…?”

Tommy stared at him disbelievingly for a moment before responding. “You know, I keep forgetting that you’re still new to this.” He couldn’t help but snort at that, ignoring the way the younger male shook his head disapprovingly. “ _Anyway..._ He’s kind of a big deal to the Assassins here? His family has helped get rid of Templar reach over the cities for years and years. He’s a prodigy. A master Assassin in the making.”

If he’d been looking at Tommy, he probably would’ve seen stars twinkling in his eyes. But instead his focus was on the man named Wilbur. As if knowing he was being talked about, the man in question turned. Their eyes caught, something akin to recognition flashing across his face and he clearly excused himself from his conversation.

The young teen practically puffed out his chest when he saw him approaching. “Lucky for you, he and I know each other.” He nudged his side with an elbow and winked.

“You know him?”

Tommy deflated. “I-I mean… We’ve spoken before! …Once or twice.” His bravado cracked and for a moment he looked noticeably flustered, embarrassed even. “But still.” He cleared his throat and folded his arms over his chest, almost like he wanted to look cool or something. “Wilbur! Fancy meeting you here.” He greeted cheerfully as soon as Wilbur got close enough.

Wilbur distractedly glanced at him, confusion colouring his gaze.

He shifted nervously. “It’s me, Thomas. You remember me, right?”

“Right, right. It’s nice to see you again.” It didn’t look like he really meant it, but before Dream could be certain about his assumption, he was turning his attention away from Tommy and onto him instead. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He smiled at him, flashing brilliantly white teeth. “Wilbur Soot, at your service.”

He didn’t have to look at Tommy to see the crest-fallen look on his face at the lacklustre response he’d received. The kid looked between the two of them, opening and closing his mouth a few times as if to say something, but then decided to just keep quiet instead. He took that as his cue to speak.

“Dream.” He responded simply.

He hummed. “That’s an interesting name. _Dream_. Is it your real one?” The way his name rolled off of his tongue was like honey. Silky in a way that it had no right to be.

“It’s my chosen one.” He frowned slightly, green eyes studying the man before him hesitantly. “I don’t use my real name anymore.” Not since he’d almost died escaping from the Templars. Again, Thomas gave him a look, although it was much less of a distraught one, and more of a _what are you doing, man?_ one. He ignored the look.

He just wasn’t quite sure what to make of the other male yet. He had an… an _air_ about him, something unquestionably charming, yet deadly. Despite the warm lines of his face and the relaxed posture, a coiled energy slithered beneath his surface, ready to strike. A smile of gold, but eyes as sharp as daggers, both wickedly intelligent and kindly.

He had no idea what exactly to make of him.

Wilbur didn’t seem to notice-or mind-his cautious frigidity, and only let out a soft, pleasant huff that sounded somewhat like a laugh. “Mysterious... I like it. Well in any case, I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

_Huh?_

“You’ve heard about me?” He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

“Obviously.” Wilbur spoke with his hands, gesturing them at random intervals that caught his eyes on more than one occasion without him realizing. “The work you’ve done here is fantastic, even if you’ve only been at it for a few months now. It’s all very impressive.”

Dream finally tore his gaze away to look at him again, before nearly choking at the look in his eyes.

They glinted with a familiarity that took him so far aback he could feel his head spin.

He looked at him with that same look that _he_ had used to. Pride and admiration and an affectionate _warmth_ that made his stomach roil.

The impressed look that shone in his dark eyes, sparkling and bright, reminded him of someone else entirely.

And for a moment, he didn’t see Wilbur at all.

Instead, George stared back at him, eyes gleaming and teeth bared in that oh so familiar smile of his.

A moment later he was gone again, another face having replaced the ghost from his past, wearing a smile that was definitely not George’s, despite its sharp edges.

This was Wilbur, not George.

“Thanks, I guess.” He managed to croak out, relieved when his voice came out sounding like normal. He licked his lips, too distracted to notice the way his fellow Assassin’s eyes tracked the movement curiously.

“Anyways,” Wilbur continued smoothly, not realizing the inner turmoil that raged within Clay. “If you’re willing, I’d love to hear some of your stories first-hand. Over dinner, perhaps?”

_Excuse me?_

He blinked. “Dinner?” He repeated. He watched, bewildered, as Wilbur laughed again. As if what he’d said was the funniest thing to him.

“Well, yeah. It’d be my treat, of course. We could swap tales, get to know each other better... It could be fun.”

“I-I mean… Yeah. Yeah, sure. Why not?”

“Pog!” He was almost blinded when Wilbur positively _beamed_ at him, looking thrilled that he’d accepted.

Pog? What the hell was ‘pog’?

“Dream?” A new voice called for him. He took that as his cue to look away, meeting Grian’s eyes from down the hallway. “When you’re available, may I speak with you for a moment in my office? It’s… quite urgent, actually.”

“Yeah, of course.” He agreed readily, nodding.

“Great, thanks.” With a small, almost tired looking smile, he departed again.

“I guess I should let you go then.” Wilbur spoke up once he was out of sight, languidly brushing his already near perfect hair back with slender fingers. Again he was immediately caught up in just how _confident_ every single move of his was. His self-assuredness was luminous. He was a torch in the dark that he couldn’t help but want to drift towards like an enchanted moth to the flame. Dangerous, but inviting in a way he didn’t quite understand. It confused him to no end. “We’ll talk more about dinner later, I guess.” He continued, sharing a playful smirk with him. The look suited him. “I’ll see you around, Dream.” Without anything else to be said, he turned on his heel and sauntered away.

He found his eyes glued to his retreating form until he'd disappeared out of sight.

“Oh my god!” Dream almost jumped at the hushed squeal, whirling around to see Tommy with his hands pressed over his mouth. Sheepishly, he realised that he’d forgotten he was there entirely for most of the conversation. “I can’t believe that just happened.” They stared at each other for a few delayed seconds, one of them elated and the other confused. “Wilbur Soot just asked you out!”

He reeled back at that. “What? _No._ No, we’re just going to dinner together, that’s all.”

Tommy scoffed dramatically, taking him by the elbow and leading him forward. “Exactly. Dinner _together_.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing him to roll his eyes and tug his arm out of his grasp. “No, no, wait. I’m serious, Dream. I think he’s into you.” George protested, chasing after him to tug at his sleeve pointedly.

“Oh my god…” He groaned. “You’re so ann…”

The word got caught in his throat.

The lanky teenager next to him was blond. Not brunet. George wasn’t here.

It was Thomas. Thomas bounded by his side, giving him cheeky looks through that Cheshire grin of his.

He wasn’t George… So why had he thought, even if just for a moment, that he was?

“I’m so what, Dream?” He prodded.

“Nothing.” He said, tone flat.

Tommy’s face fell. He hadn’t missed the sudden change in atmosphere, nor the scowl that now marred his face.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh… Okay.”

It wasn’t exactly “nothing” and they both knew it. But even he knew better than to annoy him when he was in a mood.

He kept seeing George.

A ghost of his past was haunting him today, a ghost that squeezed his heart painfully with memories of long ago and a familiarity that burned through his eyelids every time he blinked.

He missed George.

And it wasn’t really too hard to figure out why.

It was his birthday in a few days, after all.

They stopped in front of Grian’s door, both of them having gone awkwardly silent for the rest of the short trip.

“I’ll… see you later I guess.” Tommy broke the tension, scratching at his neck nervously.

He knew he was in a sour mood because of… Because. He just couldn’t bring himself to apologise to the kid yet. Too stuck wallowing in his own bitterness to do so. He knew it was unfair to take out the sudden burst of angry resentment that pooled in his stomach on him, but he couldn’t help it.

Not with his thoughts stuck on a certain someone he’d left behind so long ago.

“Yeah. Bye.” He answered simply. He didn’t wait for the other Assassin to leave to knock on the door.

Ignoring the sound of fading footsteps, he quietly opened the door and slipped inside at the soft confirmation he heard in response.

Grian sat behind his desk, glasses slipping down his nose the longer he remained staring at the piece of parchment in his hands.

For a moment he was thrown back to the last time he’d been in Johnson’s office. But instead of the air feeling cold and oppressive as it had back there, it was pleasantly comfortable here. The silence wasn’t overwhelmingly suffocating, but rather relaxing. The chair he sat in was less of a throne and more of a piece of furniture. And most of all, Grian was about as far from Elias Johnson as a person could be.

Grian looked up, pushing aside the object of his focus. “Thank you for coming so quickly.” He smiled lightly. The gesture was overshadowed by the dark circles beneath his eyes that could only heal through sleep. Not for the first time, he wondered if the elder Assassin had been working himself too hard lately. “Are you all right?”

 _‘Me?’_ He blinked a few times, surprised by the question, before realising that he was still frowning.

He cleared his throat, forcing his expression to smoothen over. “I’m fine.” He tried to ignore the concerned look he received at that. As if _he_ should be the one concerned out of the two of them. “Anyway, what did you need me for?”

“Right.” Grian’s expression shifted, adopting a more serious look within seconds. “I have a mission for you.”

-

George stood before Johnson, arms folded behind his back and face a carefully blank canvas. BadBoyHalo stood to his right, black hood pulled low over his head, casting a dark shadow over his unusually serious face. Sapnap stood, rigid, on his left. All three of them silent and solemn.

“I have a mission of utmost importance for the three of you.” Johnson looked between them slowly. “I need you to hunt down and kill an Assassin that goes by the name of ‘Dream’. We have reason to believe he will be in the South in the next week, and if we want him gone, now is the time to act.”

The name rang a bell in his head. Of course it did.

From what he knew and he’d overheard from the other Templars, this ‘Dream’ was quite new to the playing field. A new, but deadly force to be reckoned with. He’d killed many of their operatives over the past few months and ruined even more plans.

From the stories he heard he was more of a nightmare than a dream.

He was a figure that the people here feared. A smiling face of black and white beneath a green hood. A sword that struck like lightning, and most who found themselves beneath the force of the blade didn’t live to tell the tale. He fought like a demon from hell, and the more superstitious soldiers around actually believed he was one.

George believed he was just a man. A dangerous man, but one that he was going to kill, nonetheless. Dream wasn’t the only skilled new piece on the chessboard.

“There is a reason I wanted you to be the ones to do this.” Johnson exhaled, meeting George’s eyes. “He was the Assassin that killed Clay.”

His heart stuttered in his chest. From beside him Sapnap gasped and Bad shifted; all three of them reeling at the news.

Over a year. It’s been more than over a year since he’d…

None of them had heard any news on the Assassins that had killed him. George had thrown himself into training. He fought tooth and nail to become better-to become the _best_. So that he could avenge his fallen friend.

And now finally.

 _Finally_ he would have the person responsible beneath his fingers. Finally he could make them pay.

Clay would not be forgotten.

His eyes narrowed with a fierce determination. “Where will we find him?”

-

“Hey, Clay.” George greeted him cheerfully, chuckling beneath his breath at the fact that he had rhymed accidentally.

He almost rolled his eyes at the silliness of it, though a smile did tug at his lips. “Hi George.”

His friend struggled to pull himself up, feet slipping slightly on the smooth roof tiles without a proper grip. Before he could get too far Clay grabbed him by the hand to help him. He braced his own feet against the roof and tugged, allowing George to pull himself up to the top. The shorter man puffed and brushed his hands off when he let him go again, settling down to sit next to him.

“What’re you doing up here?”

“It’s nice out here.” He shrugged, the cool air of the night washing over him soothingly.

“It’s also dangerous.” He pointedly looked down at the long drop from the edge of the roof to the ground.

“Only if you fall.” He said, a teasing smile flashing across his face.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” Despite his sarcasm he _did_ look amused. “Seriously, why are we up here?”

“The stars are out tonight.” Clay murmured, gesturing upwards with his head. George followed his subtle indication, looking up at the sky.

Glistening lights twinkled above them, shining down benevolently. There were hundreds of them, tiny things that dotted across the dark blanket of the sky. The moon shone; a big winking crescent surrounded by endless stars. It was beautiful.

Instead of at the sky, he looked to George, eyes softening with affection.

With his head tilted back, the slender curve of his neck was revealed, flawless skin paler than ever beneath the silver moonlight. His eyes, for once not hidden by his glasses, sparkled with a light brighter than any of the stars above them.

Then George was looking at him too and he felt heat on his cheeks. He turned his gaze away again, hoping that in the darkness he couldn’t see how flushed he was.

The fond smirk on the other’s face told him otherwise though.

“Clay?” He glanced at him questioningly, silently willing his blush to fade away. He almost expected him to tease him about it. Instead George pulled a small parcel out from his pocket, unwrapping the paper to reveal some kind of slightly squished dessert pastry. He offered it to him with a rueful smile. “I stole this from the kitchen. Sorry, it got a bit… squashed.”

“My hero.” Clay sighed dreamily, pressing a hand to his heart.

“Oh shut up.” He shoved the treat onto his lap.

He picked it up, noticing absently that it was still warm to the touch. He knew just as well as the next person how strict the chefs were with giving out food, let alone recruits who stole from them. If George had been caught, he would have been in huge trouble. But he’d still risked it. For him.

The thought made him warm from head to toe.

“Thanks, George.” He broke the pastry in half, flakes crumbling down onto his lap and pink jam oozing over his fingers. He handed half of it to George who gave him a sweet smile and accepted it. That very smile shifted into an outraged squawk when Clay swiped his jam covered finger across his cheek.

“Hey!” He violently scrubbed at his face with his sleeve, moaning painfully about how he was going to be sticky and gross now. Which of course made Clay fall into a fit of laughter that sounded more like high pitched wheezes than actual laughter. George to his credit, did remain stoic for a while longer. But he too cracked eventually, delving into quiet giggles.

The two ate in comfortable silence once they had both calmed down, leaning into each other and legs pressing together. For warmth, both of them would claim. A claim completely untrue.

He licked his fingers languidly, savouring the sweetness on his tongue. It wasn’t often that they got something so nice to eat here, after all.

George, having finished his own half, placed his head on his shoulder, relaxing into his side with a happy sigh. Clay leaned his head on top of his without needing even a moment to think about it. Fingers curled around his, a silent but affectionate gesture that both of them appreciated.

“You know what I want for my birthday?” He eventually broke the silence. At the questioning hum that vibrated through his shoulder he continued. “I want you to tell me you love me.”

George huffed. “That’s so stupid I’m not gonna say that.”

“Come on, say it.” He whined in response, nudging him gently.

“No.”

“Say it.”

“ _No_.”

“Please? It’s my birthday, Georgie.”

“I gave you food, what more do you want?”

He laughed again, shoulders shaking. And by the muffled snickers coming from his friend, he too wasn’t immune to their idiotic sense of humour.

Both of them sat in a comfortable silence after that, warm and content together, neither wanting to move ever again. Just watching the stars side by side.

“Happy birthday, Clay.”

-

Dream blinked away the memory, the whisper of a voice curled in his ear and the soft feeling of lips on his cheek slowly fading away.

He was left feeling strangely empty and cold despite the sun being out in full force above him.

“The Templars are everywhere.” Techno murmured, eyes shifting around slowly.

Now that he had snapped out of his reverie, he could see that he was right. Armoured men stalked through the streets on patrol, occasionally scaring the civilians around them. Two burly men stood at the door, guarding it from anyone trying to enter or exit the building.

Their target, unfortunately, was inside that building.

“It’s gonna be tough trying to get him out of there.” He said, green eyes studying the surrounding area. He and Techno had spent hours memorising every turn, every alley, every street in this place. And it seemed like they would need every advantage they could get if they wanted to get in and out in one piece. Let alone with another person.

“Hey. We’re the best of the best. This is just a simple rescue mission. We’ve done this before.” He nudged him with a fist, a confident smile curving at his lips.

Dream laughed, elbowing him right back. “Okay, okay.” He went back to scouring the area, tracking the next pair of Templars to cross the street. A constant rotation, it seemed. “We’re gonna need a distraction.” He turned to look at the pink haired male. “Think you can handle that?”

“Distraction?” His eyes lit up. “You’re speaking my language, of course I can handle that.”

“Great. You cause a distraction and try to lead some of the Templars away. I’ll get inside and find our man. Circle back when you can and meet up with us wherever we are. Sound good?”

“Sounds fine.” Techno bobbed his head. “I’ll be back before you know it.” Then he was gone, disappearing down the other side of the building.

Dream turned back to keep an eye on the Templars below, crouched low so no one would be able to spot him. Now all he had to do was wait.

Fortunately he didn’t have to wait too long until an explosion rocked through the air.

He glanced over his shoulder, frowning at the sight of smoke billowing out up into the air. Well… that works. He just hoped Techno had had enough forethought to clear the area and make sure no one got hurt. The guards startled and looked amongst each other uneasily, and after a quick exchange they started heading towards the sound of the blast.

 _Perfect_.

He made his way to the edge of the building, leaping from windowsill to windowsill until he was on the ground again. Grian had been pleasantly surprised to see how quickly he got the hang of climbing and scaling. Parkour was just another thing he was naturally good at, it seemed. Maybe it ran in the family.

With a noticeable bounce in his step, he strode down the street. Two guards remained at the door, though it seemed like the others had decided to go investigate. That’s fine. He can deal with two Templars.

He plastered a sunny smile on his face as he approached the two men. While he’d never felt like he was… well, _innocent_ looking, he’d been told multiple times before that he had a face that people just wanted to trust. He had no idea why though. Something about freckles and a nice smile?

“Excuse me,” He caught their attention, voice lighter than usual, “But I think I’m lost. Would you mind helping me?” He stopped in front of them, smiling breathlessly. The men exchanged a curious glance. Before they could so much as open their mouths to answer him, he snapped his wrists up, impaling the two of them through their throats with his Hidden Blades.

Retracting them with another flick of his hand, he caught them by the backs of their necks, gently allowing them to slide down the wall instead of just collapsing over and creating a big scene. The Templars remained silent and still where they say slumped over; dead before they even hit the ground.

Dream looked over his shoulder warily, checking to see if anyone noticed the assassination. Not a single person did, though the street was rather empty. That worked well for him.

He pulled his mask out from the folds of his cloak, briefly eyeing the face that stared back at him.

_“Clay? I have something for you.” Grian handed him a white porcelain mask, dark eyes empty and a simple smile drawn across its face in black. “I found it in the ashes after the fire. I hung onto it because… Well, because I wanted to remember your parents.”_

_He studied it curiously, tracing a finger over the smooth shell of it. It was simple but striking. And creepy looking._

_“Your father used to wear this. It was a family tradition, I believe. I thought you would like to have it.”_

He pulled his mask on and slipped his hood over his head. With one last look behind him, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Step one completed.

It was quite dark inside, only one or two candles to light the place up. And, to his surprise, it was empty of people. He frowned beneath his mask, looking around suspiciously. He’d thought there would be at least one person in here to guard the Templar’s newest prisoner. But no.

He made his way towards the stairs, taking them two at a time to go quicker. He emerged into a slightly brighter room, one that housed a jail cell in the corner. In the cell sat the man he was there to rescue. A very helpful and well-known ally of the Assassins, despite him not being one himself.

“Fundy?” He asked, grabbing the set of keys lying so obviously on the table next to the door.

The man twisted in his seat to look at him. “Dream? No, no, you-” He gasped at the sight of him, clearly recognising his very distinct hood and mask. He approached the cell, searching for which key would fit as he walked. Fundy grabbed onto the bars, eyes wide with fear. “No, you shouldn’t be here.” The panic in his voice made him stop in place. “It’s a trap.” He hissed. His gaze shifted to look behind him, silently warning him that someone was there.

The sharp, cold tip of a blade pressed into the small of his back before he could even think about turning around.

His stomach sank.

He hadn’t even heard them.

He should’ve expected it. He should have known.

_He should have been more careful._

Two more pairs of footsteps appeared behind him. And then one of them spoke, purring with a malicious smugness.

“Hello, Dream.”

The world dropped away from beneath him.

He knew that voice.

He’d know that voice anywhere.

 _George_.

“It’s about time we met.” He continued, completely unaware of the distraught clench of his heart and the iciness in his veins. His voice hardened. “Turn around.”

Dream slowly turned, mouth dry as sand and stomach in his toes.

George stood before him, brandishing a twisted smile and a gleaming sword aimed at his throat now.

He almost started crying right then and there. As it was his eyes prickled with unshed tears.

George looked the same. The same, but different in a way that hurt with its familiarity. He still wore those same glasses of his. His hair had grown out a bit more. Longer, but still neat. He looked the same, but… older. Older and… angrier. By the dark bags beneath his eyes, it didn’t look like he’d been sleeping well lately either.

He shifted his gaze, breath catching in his throat. Sapnap was in the corner of the room, a scowl darkening his face and a battle axe in his hand. Sword nowhere in sight. Guess he’d gotten his wish about fighting with an axe after all.

Just behind George was BadBoyHalo. Sweet, innocent Bad he barely recognised. Because even though he wore that same exact hooded cloak he always used to wear, he held a fiery look of hatred in his eyes. One that was completely unfamiliar to him.

All three of them were angry. Angry in a way he’d never seen any of them being before. It honestly scared him. They looked at him like they despised him and, despite knowing that they had no idea who he really was, it felt like a piece of glass stabbing straight through his heart.

He wished he felt better about seeing his friends after so long, but he couldn’t. Not when it was obvious they wanted to kill him.

“It’s been a long time, but we knew we’d eventually find the man responsible.” Bad growled, circling around him like a predator.

He eyed him carefully, trying to keep tabs on all three of them. What was he talking about?

“We’d find the _murderer_ responsible.” Sapnap added on, fury lining his words. “And we’d kill him for what he’s done. For what _you’ve_ done.”

_What?_

“More than a year ago, you and your Assassin friends killed someone we cared about.” George’s voice shook with his emotions.

Oh…

_Oh no._

They thought he killed…

 _Johnson._ He had to be responsible for this.

He wanted to open his mouth and say something, say anything, but when he moved his lips nothing came out. His voice caught in his throat, his anguish choking him up.

George bared his teeth in a snarl, eyes blazing with a righteous fury that burned through his glasses. _George, please don’t-_ “Now it’s time you paid the price.”

He threw his head back just in time to miss the swing of his blade from slicing across his face, heart leaping out of his chest. Bad and Sapnap jumped into action at that, and he just managed to unsheathe his own sword and bring it up to deflect a jarring blow from Sapnap’s axe, one that sent him staggering backwards at the strength of it.

The next few minutes passed in a too-familiar blur of blocking, parrying and dodging. He fell into the same old haze of trying to survive their three versus one games of ‘manhunt’, fighting desperately to either escape or beat them.

Only this time it was _actually_ life or death.

They’d gotten better over the past year, that much was obvious. He found himself constantly pressed backwards and taking assault from every direction, gaining a new scratch or bruise to add to his collection every now and then.

He was just lucky that he too had improved. It would’ve been a slaughter otherwise.

Not that it wasn’t already one.

He took the shriek of a sword catching against his porcelain mask as the sign that they were getting too close to decapitating him. Arcing his sword around protectively, he forced them to take a step back. As soon as he got the chance, he grabbed one of his bombs from his belt and threw it to the ground. It exploded in a burst of white smoke, blinding and choking his three… the three Templars. While they were initially stunned he grabbed the keys he had been forced to drop on the ground, racing through the fog to unlock the door. It was a good thing he both had his mask, and had practised traversing through smoke like this in training.

Fundy too was coughing violently, having not been safe from the blast.

A flash of pink appearing in the haze allowed relief to flow through him. In a frantic hurry he shoved the man against Techno, who looked stunned and confused, surrounded by the shouts of Templars.

“Dream what’s happening?” He hissed, automatically grabbing onto Fundy. His own voice sounded hoarse from the smoke, as if he were trying not to cough. “You were supposed to be out of here by now-”

“I’ll tell you everything later, just take him. Go. I’ll lead them away.” He commanded as quietly as he could, mask keeping his voice both muffled and protected.

Techno’s face, though obscured and blurred, was focused. He nodded and immediately pulled Fundy towards where he knew the stairs were.

Trusting him to be able to escape unnoticed, he dashed towards the window and flung the shutters open. Bright sunlight streamed in as thin wisps of smoke immediately began to filter out. He pulled himself up to crouch in the window, quickly calculating the best way to get down.

Dream looked back at them and whistled loudly. George looked up at the noise, squinting through the quickly dissipating smoke screen.

“He’s over there!” He rasped, immediately starting towards him. His eyes were streaming and his nose was red, but the other two didn’t look any better. Both rubbed at their eyes fervently. His shout did catch their attention again though.

“Get him!” Bad shouted.

With one last look behind him, he threw himself out of the window.

The next moment he was falling.

-

George was a patient person. He knew what it meant to have to wait, to stalk your prey, before attacking. If playing those stupid hunting games with Clay had taught him anything, it was that.

It was why he had been fine with waiting for Dream to arrive, silent and still for hours on end, but always ready to strike.

And as expected, the Assassin had fallen right into their trap.

Having the person responsible for his misery and grief at his mercy was almost more than he could handle. He was right beneath his blade, cornered and outnumbered.

But still he managed to evade them, fighting like a demon with that sword of his and fending off their attacks.

Before his very eyes, his plan was falling apart.

It only made him angrier.

Barrelling through the smoke, eyes stinging and throat sore, he lunged for the Assassin perched in the window. Before his sword could connect, he was gone again.

Not able to stop in time, he slammed into the window with a grunt. He immediately leaned out of it, raking his eyes along until he found the Assassin. Dream was already far down below, leaping out of a haystack that he had obviously used to soften his fall.

Smart. Unfortunately, for him.

“No!” He hissed, glaring at his quickly retreating form.

“He’s getting away!”

He couldn’t lose him. He _wouldn’t_ lose him.

If that man could do it, so could he.

Not allowing himself to think about it, George vaulted through the window, ignoring the worried cries of his friends behind him. Heart in his throat, he fell, the wind tugging at his hair and clothes.

Then he was landing in the hay, straw flying everywhere and the breath crashing from his lungs. It wasn’t a comfortable fall-far from one, in fact. But it softened his landing just enough for him to be back on his feet again moments later.

He raced down the street; eyes glued to the cloak of green flying behind his target. Far behind him he heard Sapnap swearing, chasing after him. Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted Bad leaping across the rooftops, bow in hand as he tailed him from above. He would occasionally pause to take pot shots at Dream, but the Assassin expertly ducked and weaved around every one.

Did this guy have eyes in the back of his head or something?

He clenched his jaw, pushing his legs to go even faster. He followed him around a corner, almost slipping at the sudden sharp turn. His eyes just barely caught a flash of green darting through another alley. He followed through it, ignoring the alarmed protests of civilians as he sprinted past them.

He rounded the next corner just in time to see Dream scaling up the side of a building, expertly moving from one tiny foothold to the next like some kind of animal.

He skidded to a stop, scowling up at the hastily retreating form. A masked face met his for a moment, mocking him with its black smile and hollow eyes.

Shit. He wouldn’t be able to get up there quickly enough.

He was going to lose him.

An arrow whistled through the air and thudded into the wall next to the Assassin, startling both of them. Bad was already aiming another arrow at the green form from where he stood at the edge of another roof. He let it loose.

Dream flung himself to the side, scrabbling desperately for a new handhold. The arrow knocked uselessly off the wall where he had just been, and he took that time to pull himself up onto the roof and take off.

Bad jumped across the gap, following after him.

Sapnap caught up to George, panting, and exchanged a look with him. The two of them started running again.

It was hard trying to keep track of where the Assassin was, only able to see glimpses of green and white above them every so often. If it weren’t for Bad calling out his location to them, they would have lost him immediately.

“He’s heading for the forest!” Bad shouted, taking a second to wave down at the two Templars to get their attention.

George rounded a corner, changing directions to instead head towards the edge of the city’s limits. Sapnap kept up with him easily, overtaking him once or twice before falling back. Clearly not wanting to leave him behind.

If he hadn’t been so focused on hunting down Clay’s murderer, he might’ve appreciated it.

He burst through an alleyway, spotting Dream disappearing into the forest.

Bad was in the process of climbing down from a roof, slow and clumsy in comparison to the Assassin.

“I’ll catch up to you guys! Go!” He ordered them; voice strained.

At the confirmation, the two of them dashed forward, throwing themselves into the labyrinth of darkened trees and bushes. He shoved branches out of his way violently, cursing the forest in his head for being so difficult to navigate through. The silence only ridiculed him for his bitterness, twigs snagging on him and scratching at his arms as punishment for his mutinous thoughts.

Nature never had favoured him, even when he was younger and in awe of the looming trees and luscious greens. Now they only reminded him of all he’s lost, and he found himself hating being in the claustrophobic grip of the forest.

With a yell Sapnap heaved his arm forward, throwing his axe as hard as he could. The weapon flew past him, spinning and glinting in the speckles of light, towards the Assassin.

The axe sank deep into the trunk of the tree next to him with a loud noise and a spray of wood splinters.

Dream jolted and stumbled over his feet, head snapping to the side to stare at the weapon. Clearly stunned, despite his expression hidden by his mask.

Using his startled distraction as an advantage, George was able to close more of the distance between them, leaving Sapnap behind to retrieve his axe again.

“ _Oh Dream_!” He called. A grin stretched across his face, all sharp edges and maliciousness. He was close. So close. “ _C’mere, Dream_!”

The Assassin looked back at him at the taunt, costing himself a few more precious seconds.

_Close enough to strike._

He swung his sword, catching him across the back. To his fiery delight he saw droplets of red splatter through the air, blood decorating the tip of his blade.

Dream gasped, tripping over his feet for a second before twisting around, raising his sword to deflect his next blow. The two of them clashed blades, swinging and lunging at each other in a deadly game.

The Assassin was easy to predict, for someone who was supposedly meant to be so skilled. He had a tell that he could identify within seconds. Unfortunately, he also seemed to know how to predict George in return. It was like they had been fighting each other all their lives, dancing and twisting and trading moves as one. Moving almost perfectly in sync.

One fuelled by the flames of fury and the other held back by his anguish.

Some traitorous part of him knew that he wasn’t fighting with everything he had. Knew that the Assassin was holding back for some reason. He growled at the thought, pressing forward with a flurry of attacks that the other deflected and ducked away from.

_He’d learn not to underestimate him._

He sprung forward with an enraged cry.

Dream was too quick for him though, there in front of him in one moment and gone the next. He felt a hand on his arm, twisting it around until it was behind his back painfully. He was forced to hunch over with a shudder, unable to resist him in any way with his arm folded like that.

“ _Stop._ ” A voice hushed. A voice that was familiar but not at the same time. George felt himself vibrating with his rage, knowing his mind was playing tricks on him by making him hear Clay’s voice.

The shrill noise of an arrow racing through the air appeared and in the next moment he was slammed face first into a tree, the pressure on his arm disappearing and a new pain erupting across his face.

He almost staggered back, head reeling and nose stinging harshly from the blow, only to find that something was holding him in place by the neck. He turned his head to try and see why he was stuck, blinking quickly to clear his eyes.

An arrow jutted out of the tree he stood before, still quivering. It was only when he noticed that it had pierced the fabric of his hood that he realised he had been pinned by it. That little bastard Dream must have pushed him in the way of it.

“George-” Bad’s voice came, worry colouring his tone.

“I’m fine!” He snapped, twisting as much as he could to look at his friend. “Go after him!”

Sapnap nodded, immediately taking off again. Bad took a moment longer, though he too followed after Sapnap at seeing the anger in his eyes.

George gritted his teeth and grabbed onto the arrow. The angle was awkward and difficult to get the force needed to pull it out, but he managed. With a sharp tug he was free. He stepped back, pressing his sleeve to his face. The foul taste of copper stained his tongue, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why. Blood dripped down from his nose in slow trickles.

At least he didn’t think it had broken.

Shaking his head to clear it properly, he took to running, following the sounds of fighting and the faint flashes of colour in the distance. He noticed he wasn’t moving nearly as fast as before, to his irritation. Probably because he was still recovering from being shoved into a tree.

Face first.

Dream was _so_ going to pay.

Something white caught his attention on the forest floor, sitting amongst the dead leaves and upturned roots. His eyes narrowed at the sight, identifying it in seconds.

Sapnap’s headband. Left behind with a clear cut down the middle of it.

If Dream had hurt him…

George didn’t even finish the thought, simply pushing himself to run faster. He ducked beneath the branches, shoving through the brush, and leaping over any obstacles in his way. The wind whipped at him violently, though that didn’t stop him. Nothing was going to stop him.

Bad he found first. He slowed down when he spotted him, stomach sinking. His friend was slumped over by a tree, eyes closed and glasses nowhere to be seen. His bow lay by his feet, sliced cleanly in two. He wasn’t moving.

For a moment George’s heart stuttered in his chest.

He thought the worst. How could he not?

But then he saw his chest was moving, rising and falling with each breath. There wasn’t a single drop of blood in sight either.

Unconscious. He was only unconscious.

George let out a shaky breath, forcing himself to carry on. He couldn’t stop for Bad, not yet. Not when Sapnap was left alone with Dream.

He arrived just in time to witness a roundhouse kick that knocked Sapnap crashing back into the ground with a loud clatter of armour. His friend lay-stunned-on the ground, gasping desperately for air while clutching his chest. Winded, at best. A few cracked ribs at worst.

He flew at Dream with a yell, swords cracking once more. But to his surprise, the Assassin disengaged instead of staying to fight, turning on his heel and running full speed away.

“Get back here!” He shouted, forced to chase after him once more. “Stay and fight!”

His target, of course, didn’t listen to him.

The only bit of consolation he found was in the fact that the gash he had sliced open on his back was still bleeding quite heavily, sending a trail of bloody droplets behind him. It was also slowing him down it seemed, because every so often he would falter or stumble over his feet when the pain got too much.

The forest was starting to thin out, and he could see the bright light of the sun peering in from the quickly approaching forest line. The sound of his blood rushing through his veins was loud, though the sound of water roaring in the distance was even louder. A waterfall was probably nearby, but he didn’t care enough to think about it anymore than as an afterthought.

Dream blasted through the edge of the forest, only to hurriedly slide to a stop barely a second later. A sheer cliff dropped down before him, water booming from a massive waterfall into the outstretched river below, frothing up the water brutally. Far, far below. Too far for any sane person to want to jump into.

He was cornered.

 _‘Yes!’_ A voice inside of him howled, victorious and hungry for blood. He bared his teeth, his vision tinged with red. ‘ _Revenge.’_

He leapt, sword glinting above him in the air.

Dream turned and his masked face met his own for a split second.

Then his blade collided with the porcelain.

A thunderous _crack_ echoed around them as the mask shattered, pieces exploding out in a mess of white shards.

Dream hit the ground hard, thrown by the blow. His sword disappeared over the edge of the cliff; out of the picture entirely.

George rolled over his shoulder through the momentum, springing up to his feet a moment later.

Cheeks flushed and chest heaving with his pants, he glared down at the still form of his target.

“I’ve got you now.” He gritted out, taking a step forward. He held his sword to him.

Dream shifted weakly, then slowly pushed himself up on trembling hands to his knees, shoulders hunched over and back to him. His wound had started to stain his cloak by now, red blossoming out and making the fabric look darker.

His mask lay in pieces around him, tiny pieces of white nestled between the green blades of grass.

He was completely at his mercy.

He didn’t look so scary now.

Just… weak.

He wondered if this was what Clay had looked before he died.

Before he murdered him.

His sword hand quivered at the thought, eyes filling with angry tears. He took another step, aiming the tip of his blade against the back of his neck.

His resentment, his bitterness, his anger, it had all led to this moment. It was time, and the fires that burned within him roared brighter with that knowledge. 

“This… _This_ is for Clay.” He brought his arm up, preparing for the execution, when the Assassin turned to look at him.

“George, wait…”

He froze.

Life came to a still around him.

Clay’s freckled face stared up at him, distraught green eyes shining with tears. Blond hair peaked out from beneath his- _Dream’s_ hood. He bled from a cut on his cheek.

His words caught in his throat. “Clay?” He croaked out. His sword fell from his hand, clattering to the ground with a muffled noise.

No… No, it wasn’t possible, he couldn’t be…

They stared at each other with tears in their eyes, both breathing hard.

“This-This isn’t… It can’t be…” His breath hitched. “You _died_.”

“I’m sorry, George.” Clay whispered, voice cracking with his emotions.

“You’re… I-I don’t understand, what-”

“George!” A shout came from the distance.

Sapnap.

Clay looked behind him then back at him again, roughly wiping his cheek with a sleeve. “I’m so sorry.” He shoved himself backwards and in an instant was gone, disappearing over the edge of the cliff.

“No! _Clay_!” He shouted, throwing himself to his knees at the edge. He watched, wide eyed and horrified, as a blur of green fell through the air. He hit the water with a splash, though he couldn’t even hear it over the sound of the waterfall.

Clay didn’t resurface again.

He remained there, frozen in place, until his friends found him again.

They asked him what happened. Concerned and angry… but he couldn’t find the words to explain.

He couldn’t find any words at all.

Because Clay had been right there in front of him.

...Hadn't he?


	4. Chapter IV

Dream couldn’t get the look in George’s eyes out of his mind.

Hatred. An angry, seething rage that shone in his eyes whenever he looked at him. A look that he had thought George would never be capable of. But even he couldn’t deny facts when they were right in front of him.

It had scared him.

Once again he found himself running for his life through a forest. Hoping that he would be able to get away this time. It was enough to make him fear for his life, despite knowing all three of his hunters personally. Knowing that even though they were once friends, they wouldn’t hesitate to strike him down where he stood.

To strike _Dream_ down.

His fear is what kept him from collapsing where he was. Not from exhaustion or pain this time though. Fear that this manhunt would not end so peacefully.

Sapnap had nearly cleaved him through with that terrifying axe of his in his moment of doubt. His panic caused him to stumble.

 _“C’mere, Dream!”_ He had looked back at that. A mistake that could have cost his life, he knew in hindsight, and one that he paid for with a wicked gash across his back. He was just lucky it hadn’t been worse.

He never thought he’d ever see George look as viciously pleased about cutting him open as he had in that moment.

What had happened to him?

He was forced to turn and fight before he was cut down entirely, defending himself as much as he could. The fight was quick and one-sided at best, his sword heavy in his hands like it had never been before. One wrong move and it might have fallen from his fingers. He had to force himself to keep going, only one thing on his mind:

He couldn’t hurt George.

“Stop.” He had begged.

George hadn’t listened.

Then Bad was there too and he had to think fast, knowing if he stood still for too long this hunt would end as the last did. So grabbing onto George and twisting them around until he hit a tree, he let the arrow snag through his clothing. Keeping him stuck to it.

That would hold him back for a little while.

Retreat, then fight. Retreat, then fight. Retreat, then fight.

A continuous loop of survival, and one that was driving him insane the longer it went on for. But at least he was still alive.

The next fight he was caught up in was against Sapnap and Bad, both of them attacking without an ounce of mercy. Rage at their fingertips and violence in their eyes. He vaguely remembered cutting too close to Sapnap’s face at one point, sword slicing right through his headband. No one noticed the piece of material as it fluttered to the ground.

Eventually he got to Bad first. With a lucky hit he managed to cut right through his bow, snapping it in half, and while he was stunned he knocked him down with the hilt of his blade. He didn’t get back up again.

He knew he was just unconscious, but the sight of him on the ground like that…

The next fight ended just as quickly as it had begun. Sapnap had nearly decapitated him with that terrifying axe of his, but it ended as the other one had, just as George caught up to him.

Then he was running again, ignoring the furious calls behind him. It was just his luck for him to run right into a dead end. He knew he could potentially jump over the edge, but… Even for him, that was a long drop. The river didn’t make it any less dangerous either.

Where else could he go though?

The only sign that George was behind him was the crunch of leaves.

He turned.

The next few moments were a rush of blurs.

The silver gleam of a sword swinging at his face. The deafening crack of his mask. Pain, blinding and overwhelming.

Then he was on the ground, struggling to catch his breath. Around him lay the remainders of his mask. His head rang from the blow, cheek stinging. Had he gotten cut?

George was talking again, voice distorted in his ears. He could hear the broken hatred in it nonetheless. It hurt to hear him like this. It hurt even more to know that _he_ had made them like this.

He was going to kill him. Of that, he was certain.

 _‘Figures,’_ He thought bitterly. _‘Slain by my best friend.’_

He looked up at him, vision blurred by the tears in his eyes. He couldn’t see the shock on his face, but he did see his sword.

“George, wait…”

George spoke. He knew he did, but he couldn’t hear a thing he said over the noise in his ears. Still resounding with this deafening static that he had thought could only come from being near an explosion.

“I’m sorry, George…” He found himself apologising, swaying in his place on the ground.

Sorry for lying to him.

Sorry for not coming back for him.

Sorry he never got to tell him the truth.

Someone was shouting in the distance. He snapped out of it, meeting those horrified wet eyes. When had he started crying?

He hated seeing George cry.

He had to leave though. And he knew what he had to do.

“I’m so sorry.” With a shove he pushed himself over the edge, the anguished shout of his name in his ears and George’s face the last thing he saw.

It was by no means a painless fall.

The impact and the shock of water’s coldness left him paralyzed, unable to do anything other than sink below the churning waves. Before he could even think of using his limbs, he was pulled beneath the water and tugged away, powerless in the swift, unforgiving current. He was just lucky he had managed to snatch a breath of air before he took the plunge.

By the time he was able to pull himself up onto the shore, his body thrummed with a tiredness that went beyond just physical. His very bones dragged him down, weary and aching.

Not to mention bitterly cold from being soaked through.

Maybe jumping into the river wasn’t such a great idea.

A laugh, bitter and delirious, bubbled from his lips. Of course it wasn’t a good idea. _None_ of this was a good idea. From taking on all three of them without any backup, to dropping into a river from that cliff. The whole day had just been one bad decision to the next.

And now the Templars knew he was alive. He wasn’t sure if George would tell anyone about him or not, but he had hope that he wouldn’t. If word got back to Johnson… Well, it wouldn’t be any good.

He took a few minutes to catch his bearings. The river had taken him quite far away from the forest, it seemed. The cliff face wasn’t even in view anymore. Which meant he had even further to travel to get back to Techno, who he assumed was already waiting for him in the safe house.

So with his mind in a tangle and his body sore, he started the long trip back to the city.

-

“Ow, ow, ow-” Dream whined, squirming in his seat.

“Stop being such a baby. It’s only a few stitches.” Techno reprimanded him mercilessly, pressing a hand down against his shoulder in an effort to keep him still. “If you’re gonna cry so much then do this yourself.”

To his credit, he did try a bit harder to stay still after that. Though he did send a glare over his shoulder at his friend.

“You know, I miss the days when you were nice to me.” He caught his eyes.

The pink haired Assassin stared blankly. “I was never nice to you, stop lying.” Despite his deadpan expression, he couldn’t help but laugh. Or maybe it was _because_ of that expression. Either way, his wheezing laughter did manage to get him to crack a smile back in return.

“Right. I’ll keep that in mind.” He said dryly, turning his head to look forward again.

He shuddered and stifled a groan at the next prick of the needle going through his skin, biting down hard on his lower lip. From what Techno had told him, it wasn’t a terribly deep wound. Just a long one. It sure had felt a lot worse when he had gotten it. The bite of a sword was never something you really got used to.

He continued to work in silence after that. Silent, save for the few times he couldn’t keep his whines internal.

“And I’m finished.” Surprisingly enough, Techno was the one to break the silence officially, pulling away with one last faint tug. His follow up question didn’t instil him with any comfort though. “So… When are you gonna tell me what happened back there?”

He didn’t answer immediately, not sure about what exactly to tell him. “What do you mean?” His reluctance must’ve been obvious, because he received a smack on his bare shoulder. “ _Ow_ -”

“You know exactly what I mean.” His no-nonsense response was enough to make even him crack.

“Yeah, fine. Okay.” He sighed, dropping his gaze. He watched impassively as he dug his fingertips into his leg. “I… The three Templars back there…” He started off, hesitating as he tried to choose the right words. “I knew them. _Before_ , I mean.” Before he joined the Assassins.

“You knew them?” He sounded curious, but not pressing.

“Yeah they were… They were my friends. I-” The words caught in his throat. He closed his eyes, ignoring the way dark eyes and a cheeky, _perfect_ smile flickered across his eyelids.

“I’m sorry, Dream.” Techno’s voice was soft, gentle even.

“It’s alright. It just…”

“Hit you hard?”

“Yeah. Exactly.” Warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him backwards and into a hug. It was awkwardly placed, with the way Techno had to lean too far forward to not touch his wound and he had to lean back to meet him, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless. A comforting presence in a world that was otherwise a mess right now. “Never thought they’d try to kill me.” He murmured, dropping his head tiredly.

“We’re on opposite sides of this war. I guess it was only time before you encountered someone you used to know.”

He let out a burst of air from his lips, blowing a strand of his hair upwards. He hadn’t really noticed lately, but his hair had definitely started to get too long. He’d have to ask one of the Assassins to cut it for him.

Not Techno, of course.

He loved his friend, but he would _not_ trust him with a pair of scissors around his hair. Not after all the creepy promises and threats he’d received about him cutting his hair off. It was like he had a weird obsession with it.

“I know that, I just… I don’t know. I don’t really want to talk about it. I think I just need time.” The Assassin seemed to hear how unwilling he was to talk about this, because he eventually let go of him, patting him on the arm, and seemed to drop it mostly. And for that he appreciated him.

“Take all the time you need. You of all people deserve it.” Techno walked past him, placing down his medical equipment onto a table. “Why didn’t you go to the infirmary again? _They’re_ supposed to patch idiots up. Not me.”

And the moment is gone. Techno back to normal again.

Shoving away his outburst of emotions, he huffed and stood up, grabbing a spare shirt. “Well who else is going to chastise me and patch me up at the same time? The doctors are always too quiet. They just judge you silently.”

“You’re lucky I like you.” Techno shook his head, wiping his bloodied hands against a cloth.

“Consider me grateful.” He drawled back, buttoning up his shirt. His back twinged every so often, but it wasn’t nearly bad enough for him to pay attention to.

“Blessed is more like it.”

“Bite me.” Dream picked up his cloak, wrinkling his nose when he noticed just how tattered it was. The green fabric had darker splotches across it from where he bled, cuts and scrapes marring it. He tossed it on the bed. Well… Time for a new cloak, he guessed. He would just have to go without one for now.

He made a move for the door, only stopped when Techno gasped. “Dream walking around without his cloak? This is a moment for the history books.”

“Don’t make me kick your ass again.” He threatened jokingly, pointing a finger at him.

“In the state you’re in? I’d like to see you try.” He called after him as he left. Of course he got the last word in. He wouldn’t have expected him not to.

As soon as he closed the door behind him his smile faltered.

He was tired.

He needed sleep… and probably a drink. Or three.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling out a heavy sigh.

 _“Oh Dream!”_ He snapped his gaze over his shoulder, blood cold in his veins. Eyes searching desperately for the owner of the voice.

No one was there.

_“C’mere, Dream!”_

He squeezed his eyes shut. _‘Shut up.’_ He growled internally, shaking his head.

_“Clay!”_

_‘Stop_. _’_

“Dream?”

That voice was real.

He stopped, hands clenching into hard fists. He dug his nails into his palms in a fierce attempt to calm himself down. He was freaking out and he knew it. He had to stay calm. He schooled his expression, pulling a smile onto his face before finally turning to face the owner of the voice.

“Hey, Mumbo. What’s up?”

Mumbo was frowning, his concern written across his face like a book for all to read. That was something he had found he and the other Assassin shared. The inability to keep their emotions to themselves. Though he tried to keep his face from showing it, he knew that his eyes told the whole tale for him. Which was probably why Mumbo didn’t buy his act one bit.

“What’s wrong? You… haven’t exactly been your usual self since you came back.” For the second time today he heard something that he _really_ didn’t like hearing when it came to him. _Pity._ First Techno, now Mumbo.

Was his distress really that obvious?

His expression wavered and a frown took its place instead, eyes dropping to the ground. “It’s nothing.” He tried to dismiss it.

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” Mumbo approached him, head tilting to the side. Often he noticed that the Assassin didn’t look all too much older than him, though he knew otherwise. He just had a young face. When he wasn’t stressed about things, that is. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Talk about it… What exactly was there to talk about?

“No offense, but… I’m not sure you’d understand.” He responded reluctantly.

None of them would really understand. After all, Templars didn’t just become Assassins at the drop of the hat. He was lucky any of them even trusted _him_ , with his past. The only reason he had been welcomed in so quickly was because of Grian. Grian and Techno, actually.

“Try me.” His eyes shone with a friendly challenge, twinkling with a warmth that never seemed to leave his eyes. So caring and gentle and reassuring. “Come. You look like you need a cup of tea.”

He didn’t even like tea that much, but… Mumbo was offering to help. He knew he would just be acting like a stubborn idiot if he turned him down. Besides, he didn’t have anything better to do.

So that’s how he found himself sitting across from him not half an hour later, legs pulled up against his chest and fingers warm, sinking into the comfort of an armchair that he would be happy to die in. A cup of tea occupied his hands.

Green eyes stared at the steaming liquid, clouded and miserable with his thoughts. No matter how hard he tried, it always came back to one thing. To one person.

Mumbo didn’t pry. He never pried. He would make small talk about life and the weather, saying little jokes to lift his spirit, as he always did when someone was upset. He was the kind of guy that would giggle at his own puns, that drank tea to calm himself down. That would wait until he was ready to talk about what was going on with him instead of pushing him. He offered him a smile when their eyes met, small and kindly. A silent promise of, _it’s going to be okay._

It was too much for Dream, and he didn’t know why.

And just like that his resolve crumbled.

The next thing he knew he was pouring it all out. Every last detail _._ From his friends trying to kill him to Johnson and his lies. Even his own feelings for _him_ , the ones he had never even built up enough courage to face. The ones that still smouldered within him after so long, only rekindled by their recent interaction. Every single thing came pouring out.

Throughout it all, Mumbo was a silent support, listening to him throughout it all with not even an ounce of judgement in his eyes.

“I just… I miss him.” He mumbled. “I wish I hadn’t left them behind.”

Mumbo didn’t speak for a while after that, staring down at his tea thoughtfully. “You know… I left someone behind once too.” His voice was unusually quiet. “He was a friend of mine. A _good_ friend of mine. At the time, I thought I was protecting him. Being an Assassin is dangerous… Not only for yourself, but for those around you as well.” Sadness glinted from behind his eyes. “I’ve never forgotten him. Nor have I forgiven myself for abandoning him.”

Dream tapped a finger against his cup absently. “What happened?” To him. To the two of them.

“…He died.” Mumbo sighed, the sound barely audible, if not for the silence that hung over them like a curtain. The tea tasted bitter on his tongue at the confession. “He was always sick, but… By the time I finally worked up my nerve to see him again, it was too late.” Their eyes met again. He placed his empty cup on the table in front of them and stood. “Don’t wait until it’s too late, Dream. Do what you think is right.” He watched him leave, the cup gone cold in his hands and his mind racing.

Do what you think is right…

_‘But what do I think is right?’_

-

Dream used to love forests.

They were a constant around him. Wherever he went there would be a forest, comforting and welcoming him into its dark embrace. Calling out to him like a lost brother. A wolf that belonged beneath its canopy, one with nature and the world. Living by its rules without doubt. Without fear. He would traverse amongst the trees like a friend, relying on its natural bounties it shared with him for help. He would use its maze of greenery for his own purposes, never getting lost despite always moving.

Now he wasn’t so sure anymore. The last few times he entered one it was because he was running for his life. Not a great pattern for anyone.

He wasn’t running this time, though his heart pounded all the same. The moon shone high in the sky, silvery trickles of light beaming down around him through the gaps in the leaves above. It was dark, but he could manage. It wasn’t his first time walking around in the cover of night, after all.

It _was_ the first time in about a year that he had done so without his mask.

He hadn’t realised how much he relied on it before he lost it. How much comfort he found in being able to hide his face from the world. It offered only a tiny bit of privacy, but he cherished that feeling nonetheless.

Not for the first time he wondered if anyone would be able to make another for him. When he had asked Grian about it, he’d been given a curious look and an answer that left him feeling uncertain. _“I’ll see what I can do.”_ Few people knew what happened to his mask, and he’d rather he kept it that way. After all, he didn’t want the Assassins to think he was becoming inept. Unable to do his job anymore. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if they considered him a liability.

The rational part of his mind soothed him of that train of thought, telling him that they wouldn’t do anything bad to him. They weren’t Templars. But the other part of his mind, the anxious, self-doubting part of him feared that maybe he would be an exception to that.

Well, now he was bound to find out. After all, he had just left the compound without telling anyone. Not even Techno or Grian. Who knew what would happen when he went back.

That was almost a whole day ago.

He couldn’t help himself though. Mumbo’s words had haunted him for days. Between him and George, he worried he was going crazy with how occupied his mind was with them. It really couldn’t be healthy to spend that much time pondering over someone.

Eventually he couldn’t take it anymore. He took his sword and his horse, and he left.

The crackle of feet on the ground caught his attention.

He pressed himself into the shadows of a tree, slowing his breathing down. He waited, hiding in plain sight, until the Templar-and the threat-passed. The man hadn’t even looked his way as he walked through the forest. Clearly not doing his job of patrolling very well.

Sometimes it baffled him just how much the Templars missed. He couldn’t count the amount of times he had gotten away with things right under their noses. Their training really wasn’t as up to par as he had believed it to be.

Or maybe he was just a damn good Assassin.

Slipping his way through the forest, he approached the torch light shining through the branches. He’d tracked this group for hours on end, watching, waiting for an opportunity. And now that they had stopped travelling to make camp for the night, he could move in.

Using the bushes and shrubbery to his advantage, he crouched closer to the edge, peering out into the clearing the Templars had made their camp in. There were less than a dozen of them scattered around, maybe more. He wasn’t sure. A few of them sparred with each other, others sat around a large fire, cooking some kind of meat over the flames. Every so often he would spot a Templar making their rounds; on the lookout for anything dangerous. Teeming with people despite the moon being high in the sky.

Completely oblivious that one of the most dangerous threats to them was right there.

Sharp eyes traced over the bustling camp, searching. With every passing moment his nerves grew, knowing that the longer he remained in one place, the higher the chances of him getting caught were.

Someone emerged from the trees on the other side of the clearing. A brunet with dark eyes and even darker glasses that he could identify anywhere.

George moved across the camp, talking to someone briefly, before disappearing into the safety of one of the larger tents.

He continued to look around for a bit longer, tracing out the ideas of a plan in his mind. It was risky, but most of his plans were. And they always seemed to work out well enough for him. Keeping low to the ground he started moving again, edging towards his goal. A dark cloak hung from the branch of a tree, red lining and edges looking more like blood than decoration in the dim light of the fire.

He waited patiently for an opportunity to come up, eyeing the people around the fire. One of them approached the fire and started fiddling with the food, the smell of cooking meat wafting through the air. A pleased chatter erupted at the mention of food, the nearest Templars crowding forward. Distracted.

He moved quickly and quietly, grabbing the cloak and pulling it down to him in the confines of the bushes. He held his breath, waiting for someone to call out his location and alert the others.

It never came.

He exhaled again, allowing himself to relax a bit. He pulled the familiar cloak around his shoulders, securing it at the neck. Hopefully Bad wouldn’t miss it before he got to return it.

He stood up and pulled the hood low over his face, obscuring his features in shadows. Sending a quick prayer to any god listening, he stepped out of between the trees and into the light.

Keeping his head low, he moved through the camp, blood cold in his veins. This was a terrible idea. This was a terrible, risky idea.

One that was paying off though. One or two people looked up at him as he passed, but at spotting the cloak, they didn’t stop to question him.

_‘Thank you, Bad.’_

He reached his destination in no time, though to him the walk there was hours long. He couldn’t hide his relief when he made it, unnoticed and ignored by everyone, and he was able to duck into the tent. George stood with his back to him, folding his cloak.

His heart thumped painfully at his ribcage, beating too quick for it to be normal.

He was scared.

God he really hadn’t thought this through properly. He’d left in a rush, desperate to see him again and… and what? Reason with him? Apologise to him? Just… say hi?

God he was stupid.

George glanced back at him over his shoulder for the barest of moments, mouth twisting as he looked forward again. “I’m _fine_ , Bad. You don’t have to keep checking up on me.”

Dream hesitated again. This was his chance to leave. George didn’t know it was him, he could just… walk out of here again.

He didn’t.

He swallowed and took a step forward, slowly lowering his hood.

“Hey, George.”

He went still, the line of his shoulders tense and his head bowed.

“Why?” He asked, voice low with his tired bitterness.

He recoiled. _Why_? What…

“Why do I keep hearing him? I know he’s gone…”

Oh.

Oh, George…

His body shook, and it was only when he heard a soft sniffle that he realised that George-strong, brave, beautiful George-was crying. He didn’t even notice he was walking until he stood behind him, hand reaching out awkwardly in the air between them. Torn between wanting to touch him, to reassure him, and not wanting to disturb him. He moved it forward, pressing his palm to his shoulder.

“I’m here, George.” He voice cracked, unable to keep his emotions back.

He stiffened at the touch, cloak dropping from his hand.

He spun around, tears dripping down his cheeks; crystalline things that glimmered in the light like the most precious diamonds in the world. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, a whirlwind of emotions on his face. Shock and desperation and anger and _grief_.

“Clay?” He croaked out, shakily lifting a hand up. He grasped onto the front of his shirt, gaze flicking across his face urgently. Pale fingers clung onto him. Scared that if he let go, he might disappear entirely. Again. “You’re…”

“I’m here.” His words came out barely above a whisper, unable to do anything more than that.

He trembled. “You’re really here… you’re-you’re actually alive.” He gasped out between hiccupping breaths.

He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t find the words, so he just nodded.

“I thought… I thought I was going crazy… That day in the forest-” His words got caught in his throat, lips parting. “I wasn’t imagining things?”

“No. That was me.” He couldn’t lie to George. He wouldn’t. He could even bring himself to look away from him, too lost in that teary gaze of his. He didn’t know when his hands had moved, but he found his fingers buried in the fold of his clothes, clutching onto his sides. Just as desperate as George to never let go.

“I don’t understand, you… _Dream_ , the Assassins, they… They killed you.” He stumbled over his words in his rush to get them out, blinking rapidly. A fresh wave of tears cascaded down, ones that he ached to wipe away for him.

He succumbed to the urge, lifting a hand to gently wipe beneath his eyes with his sleeve, unable to stand seeing the tear stains marking his cheeks. George leaned into the touch, head turning until his lips pressed against his palm. Warm and familiar.

“I missed you.” He breathed. Not an answer to any of his confusion; far from one. But it was the only thing he could think to say. The only thing he could say. “ _Fuck_ I missed you.”

They surged forward as one, colliding together breathlessly in a desperate embrace. They held onto each other tight enough for bruises to form on their already aching souls. Bruises upon bruises upon bruises, and he would have it no other way. Not when it meant he could hold George in his arms like this.

He fitted there perfectly, arms slotted around him like they had a million times before, holding onto him with all his might. His head tucked in the crook of his neck seamlessly. The soft feeling of his dark hair tickled his nose, though he couldn’t bring it upon himself to be annoyed. He couldn’t bring himself to be anything but blessedly, wholly _content_.

He was a piece of his puzzle he hadn’t realised he was missing, leaving an empty gap in him ever since they’d parted. But now they were together.

He was whole again.

“ _I missed you too._ ” George sniffled into his shoulder, a wet patch steadily growing on his shirt. He didn’t mind.

“I wanted to come back for you. _So_ , so badly.” He admitted quietly when neither of them made any move to part from each other, pressing his face to the top of his head. “You were all I thought about for so long.”

“Why didn’t you?” He was quiet, but not resentful. Sadness lined the edges of his words, heavy and heart wrenching.

He exhaled, eyes closing. “It was too dangerous. For both me and you.”

“Because you’re an Assassin?” George’s voice came out as soft, but certain. He knew the answer to his own question, he just wanted his confirmation.

“…Yeah.”

A sigh, tired and resigned. Followed by a loud sniff as he pulled back. Not letting go of him or moving out of his space entirely, just shifting away far enough for them to be able to see each other’s faces again. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, eyes red and watery, but strong. Shining with the fierceness that he knew and admired.

“What happened to you? Johnson said… He told us that the Assassins… That _Dream_ killed you.” George shook his head; lost. He couldn’t blame him.

He felt his face twist, though quickly tried to soften his expression again at the taken aback look on George’s face. Sometimes he forgot that he could be pretty intimidating when he was angry. That’s what others had told him, at least.

“Johnson’s a liar. He’s been lying to us our whole lives.” He tried to keep his voice steady, though it wavered with his resentment. “He killed my parents and when I found out the truth, he tried to kill me too.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes going wide. “What?” He gaped. He let go of him and took a step back, wobbling on his feet.

“That last night, we… I confronted him. He hunted me down through the woods. He was going to kill me.” A hand unconsciously went to rub the ghost pangs of his year-old injury. “I escaped, but… He nearly succeeded.”

Just another reason he hadn’t been able to go back for George and Bad and Sapnap. He had taken months to recover from the arrow wound. He hadn’t let it go though, asking when he could go back before he was even back on his feet again. He really must have annoyed Grian with his pestering, though to his credit he had never shown it. Once he was fully healed and ready to go, Grian had explained the whole situation to him.

The guilt had eaten him alive for days. But even he, as reckless and impulsive as he was, knew what had to happen. If he wanted George to be safe, the best thing he could do was stay away.

Even if doing that broke his heart.

“What… Why would he do that? I don’t understand.” George was frowning, expression pinched with his confusion. His eyes flickered across his face, clear as day to him despite his glasses with their close quarters.

He sat back heavily on his bed roll, legs seemingly unable to support him any longer. He understood the feeling. He pulled his glasses off and set the colour-correcting lenses down on the ground next to them. He tried to wipe his tears away properly, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeves. His breath still hitched and quivered every so often, but he had calmed down significantly.

He got down onto his knees in front of him, stomach clenching painfully at the look on his face. His nose and cheeks were red and his eyes puffy, but he still looked perfect to him. Their hands automatically sought each other out, fingers curling together as they had so many times before.

“The Templars…” He worked his jaw, clenching and unclenching as he searched for a way to explain it without sounding insane. “This is going to sound crazy, but you have to believe me.”

“Okay.”

Something warm and giddy filled his stomach despite the stress of the situation. Because even though both of them were absolute hurricanes of emotions right now, and neither had been together for so long, some things hadn’t changed.

Like the way he looked at him, completely and utterly trusting.

He had forgotten how exhilarating being the object of his gaze really was.

As much as he wanted to bask in the feeling, he knew he had more important things to do. First on his list was doing what he hadn’t been able to all those years ago. Telling him the truth.

So he told him the truth. Starting at that fateful day in the market where he met Techno, and ending when they met again in the city, on opposite ends of the war this time. He spoke about his parents and the visit to his old house. The letter from his mother. The confrontation and the hunt that followed. His recovery with the Assassins. _Dream._ He left nothing out.

Nothing _._

He knew that they were pressed for time, and at any moment a Templar could walk in and see them. See _him._ But he didn’t want to leave a single thing out. He needed George to know the truth, to know what really happened. He’d lived in the dark for too long. He deserved to know.

By the end of it he had tears in his own eyes, unable to hold them back any longer.

He always had been an emotional person. His friends used to tease him mercilessly for his inability to keep his emotions in. But with every cheeky comment, there was also a fond reassurance. For every laugh was a comforting smile. Even through their sarcasm and mockery, he knew all of them never truly meant ill of it. Bad had even called it endearing once.

Despite him being the strongest of the lot at the time, there was always a fierce protective streak that lit up when he found himself too tired to keep everything inside. He remembered one instance in particular.

Something had upset him during a training session. One of the other recruits had been jabbing at him all day verbally. Low blows and poisonous words. He’d been too emotionally high-strung to ignore him like he usually would and he’d found himself trying to fight his tears back that day. He never was any good at hiding his feelings though. When Sapnap found out… Well, that recruit wound up in the infirmary with more than just an injured pride.

George, Sapnap and Bad were his guardian angels during those times. And anyone who messed with him had to face their wrath. They protected each other. Always had and always would.

“I can’t believe it…” George murmured, before he backtracked quickly. “I mean, I _do_ believe it, it’s just…”

He smiled, thin and bitter. “A lot to take in?”

“Yeah. Exactly.” Brown eyes stared up at him, flickering across his face slowly. Pained. “We mourned you. _I_ mourned you. For so long.” His voice cracked painfully. He felt a squeeze on his hands, though he wasn’t sure if it was meant to comfort Dream or himself. Or maybe both of them. “After you died, I…” He faltered for a moment before continuing on. “I was so _angry_ for so long. I-I wanted to kill them all for what they did to us. To you.”

“Hey, it’s okay-”

“No it’s not!” He burst out suddenly. He looked guilty quickly after, lowering his voice again. It did nothing to hide the fact that he was distraught though. “I nearly killed you that day by the cliff! It’s not okay, Clay-Dream- _whoever you are_. I don’t even know anymore-”

“I’m me, George!” His tears finally flowed over, silent things that traced along his cheeks and left cold trails in their wake. “I’m still me.”

His friend’s face softened at the sight of him crying, hand leaving his to instead reach up and cup his face, thumb brushing across his skin to wipe away one of his tears. He melted into the touch, weak and pliant in his hold as he always was. He missed this. He missed him.

His smile, his voice, his scent, his touch. Everything about him. His heart sang; overjoyed that he was reunited with the other half of his soul.

Dream didn’t believe in ‘soulmates’. That was a daydream for young kids and helpless teenagers in love. He was neither of those things. It was nothing but a fairy tale told to make life seem a bit better than it was.

But right here, right now, even he couldn’t deny that he felt whole again.

George gazed at him, so fond and caring.

“…Your hair looks stupid.”

A dazed, disbelieving laugh bubbled from his lips. Because of all the things he had been expecting, that was not one of them. “ _What_?”

“Your hair. It’s… Too long.” George complained, moving his fingers back until he could slide them through his hair, tangling his digits in the-admittedly-too long locks. He couldn’t help but shiver at the feeling of his nails dragging lightly across his skin. “You look stupid.”

“It’s not that bad.” He protested. A smile warmed his face, despite the tears in his eyes.

“Not that bad? You look like a street urchin.”

“Wow, thanks.” He said.

George giggled and, for a moment, all was right in the world.

A noise outside broke the moment: A voice. Faint, but getting louder as he asked around, “Have you seen my cloak anywhere?”

“Bad.” George spoke for him, eyes caught on the entrance of the tent. Concern flashed across his face. “He’s coming.” He turned to him again, pulling back. “You have to go.”

He almost whined at the loss of contact. Almost. There were more pressing concerns right now though.

“Wait,” He protested, catching ahold of his wrist. “Come with me, George.” The familiarity of this scene wasn’t wasted on him. For a moment he wasn’t there with George, but instead in the ruins of his house with Techno in front of him. He swallowed, blinking away the memory. “You’ll be safe with the Assassins. With _me_.”

George hesitated, lips parting. “I… Clay, I don’t… What if the Assassins don’t take me in? I’m a Templar, for crying out loud.”

“Then we’ll go somewhere else. Anywhere else. Wherever you want to go.” He promised, clutching onto his hand with his own. He could feel his fingers unconsciously clutch onto him, just as desperate as he was to not let go. “Please, I can’t leave you behind. Not again.”

They stared at each other unblinkingly, one pleading and desperate, the other conflicted.

“All right.” Relief filtered through his veins, soothing his inner wolf and pulling it back into its den to sleep. “But what about Bad and Sapnap? We can’t just leave them.”

“You’re right.” While George might have been the one person he had been desperate to see, to talk to, his other friends were still too important for him to abandon again. He glanced at the side of the tent, heart jumping when he realised Bad’s voice was even closer than before. This time another, unfamiliar voice accompanied him. And from what he could hear, they were coming this way. “I’ll tail the troop and come back when I find an opening so I can talk to them too.”

“What should I tell them? If I tell them the truth, they might think I’m crazy.”

“Don’t tell them anything yet then. I’ll explain everything myself when I can.” He climbed to his feet, helping George up when he made a move to do the same.

He caught the tail end of a conversation faintly as he stood.

_“-try George, he might’ve seen it.”_

He definitely had to go.

Dream pulled Bad’s hood over his head, swiftly wiping his cheeks. His tears might have been finished for now, but the tracks still ran cold on his face. He moved to the other end of the tent, intending on slipping out through the back before they came in.

He was stopped by a strong yank on his shoulder, spinning him around in place.

Before he could even open his mouth to ask, he felt lips on his.

George was kissing him.

His brain went blank, too stunned to quite comprehend what was happening at first. Then there were fireworks sparking to life beneath his skin and an electrifying warmth filling his body, lighting his entire being with its heat.

He clutched onto George as he pressed into him, kissing him back for all he was worth. It was a far cry from what he’d imagined a first kiss to be. It was a bit too rough, a bit too clumsy, with their teeth knocking and their noses bumping. But to him it was still perfect.

The sensation that burned through his lips was blissfully addictive. A feeling he found himself getting drunk on. The body that fit against his so perfectly and the hands that tugged on his shirt belonged there and there alone.

They pulled away again all too soon, both flushed red and wide eyed. Both also overwhelmingly pleased.

George cleared his throat, straightening his shirt in an effort to compose himself. “For good luck.” He explained, finally meeting his gaze again. The blush on his face deepened when he noticed the goofy smile that he had been unable to hide.

“Good luck.” He echoed, dazed. “Yeah. Yeah, right.”

The sound of footsteps outside startled him out of his blissed-out reverie. He darted to the back of the tent, crouching low to be able to slip under the material.

He caught George’s eyes, adoration twinkling like stars for all to see. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay.”

Then he was gone, ducking beneath the fabric, and stepping outside into the darkness again. Behind him voices appeared.

“Hey, George? I was wondering if you’ve seen my-Oh my goodness, have you been crying? What’s wrong?” The gentle coo of Bad’s voice fussed over George, despite his half-hearted complaints.

Dream pressed a hand against his leaping, bounding heart, letting out a shaky exhale. Energy fizzled in his veins, exuberant and hopeful.

George had kissed him.

He ducked his head and hurriedly walked out of the camp again, avoiding the Templars as much as he could. Once again, not a single person took notice of him. Disappearing into the forest’s edge again, he pulled the cloak off. With a silent apology to Bad, he hung it back up exactly where he found it. He was sure he would be confused to hell and back, but he couldn’t find himself to care.

Casting one last look behind him, he vanished into the night.

All the while an elated grin remained on his face.

Unbeknownst to them, from across the camp, eyes watched as the Assassin retreated, fading away into the shadows of the night. Cold and grey and knowing. Already coming up with a plan.

-

George slowly sifted his gaze around, taking in the room’s appearance through the dark lenses of his glasses. It was a simple shop, dimly lit by lanterns and decorated sparsely with miscellaneous items along the shelves. The shopkeeper stood behind a bar, a greasy man with beady eyes and a creepy smile.

“What wares are you interested in buying?”

They weren’t here for just anything, and they all knew it. Sapnap shifted from his place next to him, looking mildly uncomfortable. He could understand why; this place felt about as cold and unwelcoming as a funeral. It didn’t help that the man in front of them kept leering at them.

He kept his cool though, face carefully blank, as he watched Johnson step forward.

“How has your Father Cain been sleeping?” He asked, the question voiced casually. Though there was a deeper meaning to it. By the subtle look of understanding that flickered across his face, he understood the password.

“Well, with the feather of eagles on his blade.” Satisfied by the cryptic answer, Johnson nodded.

“I’m here for the code, as we agreed.”

“Of course.” The man disappeared into one of the back rooms.

George had only a vague idea about what they were here to get. Some kind of manuscript that Johnson had claimed would turn the tides against the Assassins. A map that would lead them to a secret weapon once they deciphered its code.

At the time, when Johnson had explained that they were going on a mission to retrieve the code, he had been thrilled. A secret weapon that could destroy the Assassins once and for all? He had gladly accepted the mission, eager to prove himself and finish this war. Even if his thoughts had been plagued by Dream and Clay, never truly sure of what he saw that day.

But now that he knew the truth, knew all that the Templars were planning on doing? He felt uneasy. Sick to his stomach. This manuscript could be deadly if they decoded it. _When_ they decoded it.

If it were a map that led to one of these ‘artifacts’ that Clay had told him about, as he suspected it was, it could be the end of freedom as it is.

He would have to do something about it. Or at the very least, tell Clay about it when he saw him again.

He’d heard nothing from the Assassin as the days went by, getting more and more nervous with each passing hour. He never knew if anything had happened to him, or if maybe he had decided to leave him behind after all.

Every so often he would see a flash of colour in the woods though, the shine of golden hair in the sunlight glinting through the trees, and he would be soothed for some time after again.

He _was_ there. Watching and waiting. He just had to be patient.

It was hard to be patient though, after they… After their kiss.

George didn’t know what he’d been thinking. He saw Clay turning to leave, about to disappear out of his life again, and couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t let him go without telling him how he felt about him. Or showing him, in his case.

The feelings of his lips hadn’t faded for hours after that. Nor had that stupid little grin of his left his head.

The man came back, holding a scroll in his hands. Johnson accepted it wordlessly when it was offered to him, opening it to cast his scrutinous gaze on the paper. After a few terse moments of silence, he rolled it back up again. Satisfied with what he saw.

“Here’s your payment.” He handed him a thick bag that jangled and clinked every time it moved. Full to the brim and almost overflowing with gold coins.

The man snatched it greedily, eyes shining with his approval. “Pleasure doing business with you.” He smiled thinly. A more than fair deal, in his eyes. One piece of indecipherable parchment for a whole bag of gold. “Have a nice day.”

They left the shop in another bout of silence, George eyeing the scroll that Johnson tucked into a pocket by his side. Which was smart, if he was being honest. He was likely the most skilled fighter of the lot and the manuscript would be safest there. It was just unfortunate for George for that very reason.

He squinted briefly when they left the claustrophobic darkness of that musty old shop and entered the town square, sun warm and brilliant in comparison. Bad stood on guard with the other Templars around the area, a bow in hand and his eyes cautiously roving around. Always alert.

It was a quiet place, a small town with not much to its name besides a well-known tavern and a lack of criminals. A peaceful little town. With what was at stake though, Johnson had been careful to place his men around the area and watch out for any trouble. Peaceful though it may be, anything could change in a matter of seconds. So he had taken every precaution he could.

Not for the first time George worried about Clay. He didn’t know where he was, or even if he was in the town with them. He just hoped that wherever he was, he was being safe.

“Sometimes in life,” Johnson spoke up suddenly, startling both him and Sapnap. He didn’t look at either of them though. “We have to make hard decisions.”

Where exactly was this coming from?

“People die… People change... People betray.” He turned his eyes to George and suddenly his blood ran cold. There was something in that gaze of his, cold and piercing and _knowing._ “Would you betray, George?”

His mouth was dry, though he pushed through it, keeping his expression as calm but resolute as he could. “Of course not.”

Johnson hummed his approval, turning his face to instead look at the nearest Templars. He gestured them over and, like sheep, they obeyed. “You’re good. A better liar than Clay was, certainly.” His stomach dropped like a rock through the ocean. “Just… not good enough.” His face hardened to stone. “Seize him.”

George liked to say he had quick reaction times. That when it came down to it, his reflexes would be able to keep him alive and in one piece. But even a quick reaction time couldn’t save him from being jumped by so many Templars.

He scratched and bit and fought them away, trying his damndest to escape. Before he knew it though, he was being forced to his knees, arms encircled by hands that kept him in place.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He spat, trying to shove violently at the hands on his shoulders. They didn’t give him any leeway though, only pressed down on him until he could barely move. “Let go of me! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“You’re a traitor, George.” Johnson said simply, standing before him like an executioner with his victim. His hands folded behind his back.

“ _What_? No, he’s not!” Sapnap jumped to his defence in front of him, eyes huge with his alarm.

“Yes, he is.”

Sapnap didn’t back down though, standing tall beneath his frigid gaze. A knight in shining armour to him right now.

“With all due respect, sir,” Bad stepped in, having abandoned his post to come join Sapnap. He looked shaken yet determined. “George would never betray us. Please, let him go. I’m sure he can explain everything.” He couldn’t help but feel relieved at just how fervently his friends defended him, so certain that he was wrongly accused. It also made guilt well up inside him. He knew full well that they were wrong.

“Are you sure about that?” Johnson looked between the two of them. “George has been working with the Assassin Dream beneath our noses.”

Sapnap went still in front of him and Bad looked at him over his shoulder. Both of them taken aback and uncertain by the accusation.

This wasn’t good.

Johnson walked between them, and this time Sapnap shifted out of his way. He looked back at him, his conflict written on his face. But then Johnson was in front of him and blocking him from view, kneeling down to get on his level.

“That day you three were sent to kill him. In your report you told us that he escaped... I believe you _let_ him escape. You didn’t kill him because you didn’t _want_ to kill him. You’ve been working with him this whole time, haven’t you?”

“No, no, it’s not what it sounds like-”

Stars blurred across his vision as his head snapped to the side. His glasses went clattering to the ground somewhere. His jaw ached.

It took him a moment to realise that Johnson had punched him.

“So you don’t deny it?” His voice slurred in his ears, but he could make out what he was saying. “You’re a traitor to the cause?”

“No.” He growled, tugging weakly on the arms holding him. “I’m not working with anyone!”

Johnson grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged his head up roughly. He cried out at the sharp pain, eyes prickling. He could see Bad and Sapnap watching, helpless and torn. Unable to do anything but watch.

“I saw you two together, George. A few days ago. Dream met up with you in the camp.” He tilted his head to the side, eyeing him. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

“ _Fuck you_.”

Another blow.

This one even more painful than the first. His head rang painfully and he had to blink a trickle of blood from his eye. Probably split from the punch. Or maybe he’d been cut by the ring Johnson always wore. Didn’t matter. It hurt anyway.

“Cuff him.” He barely managed to stop the world from spinning in time to see cold iron shackles clicking into place around his wrists. Johnson pulled away and stood, looking around the courtyard expectantly.

“Dream!” He roared, voice echoing along the walls and through the air. The one or two citizens curiously hanging around retreated at the yell, making their escapes. Lucky. “I know you’re here, Dream!” He turned in place, glaring at nothing and everything. As if he expected the Assassin to be there. And for his sake, George hoped he was not. “We have your friend. If you want to keep him alive, reveal yourself! This is your only chance!”

Silence was his only response.

Annoyed by that, the Templar turned to look at the man standing over him. A big, hulking man with a battle axe in his hands. A much larger one that Sapnap used. “Do it.”

The man moved into place, the edge of the axe touching his neck.

His blood ran cold.

No.

No, god, please, no.

Not like this. Not now. Not when he had finally found Clay again.

“No! Wait, please don’t.” Bad begged, stepping forward as Sapnap burst out,

“There has to be another way!” At the same time.

Johnson gave them a withering look. “Traitors and anyone who helps traitors are executed. That is our way. Do you understand me?”

Bad gasped silently at the implied threat, pressing a hand to his mouth. Next to him Sapnap almost reached a hand out, mouth opening to say something, but then he faltered and wilted back into himself at the fierce look Johnson sent him. Both of their eyes shone though.

The man heaved his axe overhead, the blade gleaming menacingly in the light.

_‘I’m sorry, Clay.’_

An arrow sank into the man’s exposed throat and erupted out through the other side. The man spluttered, choking on his own blood, as the axe slipped out of his hands and crashed into the floor behind him. Then he too fell.

“Dream _._ ” Johnson spat, turning to place his burning gaze somewhere in the distance.

George shot his eyes to the rooftop of one of the town houses, heart soaring when he spotted a familiar cloaked figure kneeling on the roof, bow in hand. He wore a dark coloured cloak that hid most of his face, but he could identify him anyway.

A grin stretched across his face, bright and relieved.

“ _Clay_.”


	5. Chapter V

George could only watch, heart pounding, as Clay slipped down the side of the building, landing on his feet with a fluidity that few people possessed. Graceful like a cat but menacing like a wolf. If he had fangs, he was sure they’d be bared, and his hackles raised. Ready to strike down his enemies where they stood.

He had lost his bow at some point and his face was hidden by his hood, though it did nothing to hide the fury that radiated off of him in waves, crackling through the air like thunder.

It was terrifying to witness…

And exhilarating.

Something flickered to life within him at the sight, something primal and gleeful. A flame stoked by his righteous anger. Burning, searing, _delicious._ To see him so willing to defend him, to protect him…

George swallowed, unable to tear his eyes off of the approaching figure.

The Templars all had their weapons out and aimed at him within moments, abandoning their posts to gather together and surround him completely. They gave him a wide berth though. Cautious, but ready to attack at a single order. Not that they looked all too willing to do so. Everyone knew about Dream, after all. The demon.

_The nightmare._

“Let him go.” His voice, cold and unforgiving, rang out. Too occupied with being completely entranced by Clay, he missed the way that Sapnap grabbed onto Bad’s sleeve wordlessly, quivering at the sound of his voice. Though not from fear, as one or two of the Templars had.

“Bad-” He hushed, almost desperately. Needing to know if his friend had heard what he had too. “Is that…”

“No. No, it can’t be.” BadBoyHalo whispered back, though his voice wavered with his uncertainty. Uncertain about whether or not the voice they were hearing was the one that belonged to a friend of theirs.

A dead friend of theirs.

“Dream.” Johnson said coolly, attempting a calm façade, despite the hatred that seethed beneath his eyes. The feeling was mutual.

“Let him go.” Clay repeated, not even bothering to look at the Templars around him. He had eyes only for Johnson. The man responsible for all of this. _The man who had almost killed George._ “Or I will kill every single one of you.”

Johnson laughed, an icy, unnatural sound that ran shivers down George’s spine.

“If you hadn’t noticed, we have you surrounded. You’re outnumbered, Assassin. Surrender now and we won’t kill your friend right here, right now.” There was a hand in his hair again, yanking on his hair painfully.

He hissed through his teeth, glaring up at the Templar. The man had the nerve to sneer at him like he was some kind of animal he was disgusted by. He wanted to rip that look off his face with his nails. But with two of the Templars still holding him down by the shoulders, the most he could do was squirm defiantly.

“You’re right… I am outnumbered.” Clay wasn’t afraid though. He could see the thin line of his smile, all teeth and viciousness. Not a hint of the warmth that he had shared with George just days ago. “Give yourself another dozen men, and then _maybe_ it’ll be a fair fight.”

Johnson scowled, fingers finally letting go of him again as he stepped forward. Immediately the cool feeling of relief washed over his skin. “Shut him up already.” He snapped.

Obeying his will, the Templars attacked.

“Not you two.” He caught Sapnap and Bad in his gaze, stopping them in place. “You two will stay there and watch.”

Clay disappeared into the crowd of shining armour and flashing blades, sinking out of view in the rush of bodies. And for a moment, George found himself worried.

There were just too many of them, all older and likely more experienced in fighting than he was. He desperately searched the surging crowd for even a small flash of him. When none came, his stomach clenched and churned unpleasantly.

This time Clay didn’t have to hold himself back though.

He erupted into view again; a whirlwind devastating through their ranks with every blow he struck. He fought like a demon, howling and tearing through them with an ease that made his heart do something weird in his chest. Enemies fell at his feet, the bodies growing more and more while the Templars’ numbers started to thin out one by one.

His hood had fallen down at some point, revealing a snarling face with glowing eyes. Blood splattered across his skin, though he had a feeling most of it wasn’t his own. His left arm hung at his side, patches of red running down from the shoulder. None of it seemed to faze Clay in the slightest anyway.

Seeing him like that-so radiant and in his element-left him breathless.

He was almost lost to the fact that Bad and Sapnap were both transfixed too, though in a different way than he was.

“Clay…” Bad choked on his words, his bow limp in his hand. He wouldn’t be surprised if he let go of it entirely.

“He’s alive.” Sapnap breathed, eyes glassy and face pale. Paler than he had ever seen him being before. His skin had an ashy quality to it that reminded him of a corpse.

George glanced between them and Clay, who still fought tooth and nail against the Templars. He had to do something. He couldn’t just let him fight alone.

“Sapnap, Bad,” He hissed, trying not to alert Johnson.

Sapnap hesitantly pried his gaze away from the Assassin. His eyes shone and his face twisted with his emotions, too many at once for him to be able to identify what exactly he was thinking.

“Did you know?” He croaked out, jaw working in his effort to keep from cracking entirely.

“I found out a few days ago.” He admitted, not willing to lie to them. “Listen, we need to help him. Johnson’s going to kill him.”

“He’s an _Assassin_.” Bad shook his head, stunned by the news. He looked distraught, like he’d been betrayed. And to be fair… He kind of had been.

“He’s _Clay._ ” He argued fiercely. “What more do you need?”

A strike to his face sent him reeling.

“Shut up already!” The Templar on his left spat down at him, before turning to give Sapnap and Bad a warning glare.

They both shrank back and went silent at the look, knowing that they had already stepped out of place by talking to George. Both looked wretchedly miserable, torn into tiny confused pieces by… all of this.

He understood that they had been thrown into a spiral of doubt and confusion at the turn of events, he really did, but he was starting to get frustrated by their lack of action. Clay was there, in need of help, and they weren’t moving. _He needed them to move_.

Despite his lips stinging harshly he continued, “Sapnap, please!” He begged anxiously, meeting his eyes. “I have to help him-” A violent shove sent him almost toppling forward onto his face. He managed to catch himself just in time, sending a frigid glare to his captives. But, accepting his second warning, he went silent.

An ominous laugh rang through the air, cold and mirthless.

Clay tugged his sword out of the chest of his last attacker, tiredly turning to look for the source of the sound. The final Templar collapsed to the ground with a clatter. Around him lay a pile of bodies. Most weren’t moving, though one or two did still gasp desperately for breath in their last few moments. There was no hope for them though. Not with their wounds and the amount of blood that formed around them.

Hope fluttered like a dying bird within him, relieved to see that the fight was over and that they had come out on top. That _Clay_ had come out on top. Unlike after the fights that he had used to participate in though, he didn’t look to be bathing in the afterglow of his triumph.

He looked tired. He was still angry; a fierce type of anger that lingered beneath his skin. But tired at the same time.

Despite being the obvious loser of the battle, Johnson looked anything but defeated. He chuckled, tall and smug, as he stared Clay down from a distance.

“It’s over, Johnson.” Clay pointed at him with his sword, voice heavy with his fatigue. Low, yet still strong with determination.

“I’m afraid that’s not quite true.” He opened his arms, as if about to welcome him into an embrace.

A frown tugged between his brows uneasily. Why was he so confident? The only Templars left were Sapnap and Bad, and neither of them were in any state to do anything.

It became obvious as to why when all around the town square, men came filing in. Dozens of men with big swords and dark looks in their eyes. None of them wore the same outfit or had any semblance of a uniform, but George was able to identify them in seconds anyway, a sickening sort of comprehension washing through him.

Mercenaries.

Johnson had hired mercenaries to deal with Clay.

“Is this more to your liking?” Johnson drawled, smiling. An arrogant thing that made him want to punch him even more than he already did. That cheating son of a…

The Assassin tensed visibly, already lifting his sword in front of him defensively. His other arm didn’t look good, and he moved with a limp, but he didn’t back down. He knew that he would fight until he dropped, and for that George only admired him more. Even if worry clawed at his heart violently.

Their eyes met across the square and, just for a moment, he saw something pass through his eyes. A sight that he never wanted to see again.

He’d seen Clay through everything. He’d been _with_ him through everything.

He had spent nights comforting him of his grief for parents that he had never known, holding his hand through his tears. He’d seen him victorious, head held high like he owned the world-as if he didn’t already own _his_ entire world-when he defeated his opponents in battle. He was with him when he was an enraged beast, howling his anger to the winds and screaming his agony to the skies, always there to soothe the aching river of his emotions for him. They had shared many knowing looks and affectionate touches in the secrecy of private moments, trading countless laughs through the years. He had revelled in those ridiculous smiles that Clay seemed to reserve only for him, the ones that made his heart go and his face heat up.

Never before had he seen Clay look frightened though.

Worried. Concerned. Distraught. He’d been there through it all.

Never fear.

But as he looked around, curling in on himself cautiously, and with the multitude of dangerous men closing in on him, he could see that very thing glinting treacherously in his eyes.

Self-assured, impulsive, _confident_ Clay… was scared.

“You may be good, Clay, but even you can’t hope to come out of this one alive. Not even you can cheat death this time.” Johnson spoke as if it were a matter of fact, and it made his blood boil. Even as his own fear began to slither through him like an insidious snake, poisoning him with its cold venom.

There were so many of them… He couldn’t fight them all off. Even he, skilled as he was, couldn’t do this alone.

A silent, sad apology passed through their gaze, as if he was telling him, _“I’m sorry,”_ all over again.

 _‘Don’t you give up on me, Clay.’_ His thoughts howled back, defiant through the threat of death. _‘Don’t you_ dare _leave me again.’_

And as if hearing him speak out loud, his face hardened. He turned to Johnson again, chin up and head held high. “Bring it on.” He challenged, lips curling into something that looked very much like a fierce smile.

“Bring me his head!”

With a cry the battle began.

Despite being outnumbered and fatigued with his injuries, he still fought with every bit of fire he had left in him. He was an entrancing beast in the heat of battle, with blood on his face and hair that glowed in the sun’s light. Like a god amongst men. A bloody and vicious warrior. He danced in and out of view, every swing he saw radiating his power and every move purposeful and sure.

He’d never looked more perfect to him.

Though for every man Clay managed to down, another took his place. The wolf, while still deadly and frothing at the mouth, was tiring quickly. One misplaced step gifted him with a punch that nearly knocked him off of his feet, if not for his swift recovery. Energised by the success, the mob pressed forward in a frenzy.

“Sapnap.” Bad’s voice came up. Weak, yet lined with something certain. George looked to the side to see them sharing a hidden look, as if they were conversing with each other silently. “We have to.”

Have to? Have to what?

Sapnap nodded once, his grip tightening on the handle of his axe until his knuckles turned white with the pressure. Before he could even think about opening his mouth to demand answers, the dark-haired man spun around with a cry, cracking his axe against one of his captor’s chest plate. The man gasped as he fell back, hand disappearing from its place on his shoulder.

Bad moved as soon as he did, lunging forward and stabbing the arrow in his hand into the open and welcoming expanse of his second captor’s throat. That Templar crumpled to the ground wordlessly as well.

A flash of metal came slamming down in front of his face with a mighty _clang_ , and the harsh vibrations of metal on metal shook through his arms unpleasantly.

He looked down, in a daze, to see Sapnap’s axe buried in the ground between his hands. The chains that had held his shackles firmly together lay in pieces before him. Smashed cleanly through by the huge blade. The shackles themselves were still a bit of an issue, but at least now his hands weren’t stuck together.

“Get up, Georgie.” Sapnap grabbed him by the hand and heaved him up, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder when he wobbled, off balance for the barest of moments.

“You…” He gaped, looking between the two of them with wide, awed eyes. Sapnap offered him a delicate smile.

“We stick together.” Sapnap said firmly as he tugged his weapon free from the floor. “No matter what.”

“I’m sorry it took so long for us to come to our senses.” Bad apologised.

He grinned, a relieved and wholehearted thing that lit his face up. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” He unsheathed his sword and wiped the blood from his eyes with his sleeve, ignoring the way the iron shackles hung heavy on his wrists. “Let’s go help our friend.”

Johnson, too busy observing the one-sided fight like some kind of Emperor, didn’t notice their escape until they were flying into battle, slicing through the vulnerable backs of mercenaries and clearing a path towards Clay. He could only watch, furious, as the traitors worked together to try and turn the tide.

“Get them all!” He bellowed over the raging sounds of fighting, red in the face with his fury. “A thousand coins apiece for the traitors!”

With the ever-growing attention of the mercenaries, they found themselves under attack from all sides in no time.

George couldn’t see Clay, but he knew that Bad could, with the way he directed the three of them through the crowd. Slowly but surely making their way through. They worked in synch, defending each other at every turn and cutting down all in their paths.

He had never used to like killing. He’d often felt sick at the mere thought of it when he was younger, yet right now his heart beat against his ribs like a caged animal, revelling in the blood of those who want to hurt Clay

His Assassin looked worse for wear by the time they reached each other, all of them having received enough cuts and bruises to last a lifetime. Though the look that shone on his face, so brilliant and dazzling, made every ache and pain worth it.

“You made it.” Clay ducked beneath the swing of a blade, slicing the owner’s arm in return.

George rolled his eyes and deflected the attack of a charging mercenary, a smile tugging at his lips despite the imminent danger that loomed over them. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Stop flirting and focus on fighting!” Sapnap groaned, pushing through them to take care of another enemy.

“Well hello to you too.” Clay laughed, clearly invigorated by having his friends at his side again. George could understand that.

“Hello.” Bad answered him shortly, blocking a hit on a shield he’d found along the way. He had discarded his bow to instead work with his sword. Not his favourite weapon by far, but still the best choice for close combat. And it wasn’t like he was terrible with a sword either. He just preferred to fight long-distance. “We have to get out of here. There’s too many of them.”

“He’s right.” Sapnap agreed through huffs and pants. While his own axe was more than effective against so many enemies so close, it was also heavy, and it weighed him down. The droplets of sweat that dripped down his forehead could attest to that.

He heard Clay curse beneath his breath. “I don’t have any smoke bombs either…”

“What?”

“Nothing. Look, as soon as there’s a lull in the crowd, we make a break for it. Head to the horses.”

“What about Johnson?”

“Forget him.” Clay gritted his teeth. It sounded like it pained him to say it, but he pushed through. “We can’t do anything about him. We just need to escape.”

“Got it.” George confirmed, blocking an attack that would’ve caught Clay on his turned back. For a moment he felt guilty, knowing that he already had a wound on his back-one created by him. But now wasn’t the time to think of things like that. Now he had to focus on protecting himself and his friends.

The fight passed in a blur around him of deflecting, attacking, and surviving _._ He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but his sword was starting to get unbearably heavy in his hand and the cut over his eyes was beginning to blind him with his own blood every time he blinked.

“Over here!” Clay called. He turned just in time to see him whipping a hand through the air, sending throwing knives into the unsuspecting faces of the mercenaries before him. They all dropped, clearing a tiny gap in the otherwise unforgiving crowd.

The four of them rushed forward with a renewed vigour, desperate to escape the never-ending supply of enemies. George took up the back, defending them from behind, while Clay led the front, clearing out a thin slot for them to be able to escape through.

They burst out finally and, as the brunet made a move to run, a hand snagged onto his cloak by the hood.

He choked and tripped backwards, swiping, and fumbling around desperately. Trying his best to escape the clutches of the mercenaries as they fell upon him. Hands grabbed onto his arms and blades sliced at his skin. All of them hungry to claim the reward for killing him.

And he was helpless to do anything but squirm and cry out for help.

“Don’t touch him!” A voice, enraged and icy, cut through the air.

The men around him disappeared and the hands fell away in an instant. In their place stood Clay, panting and exhausted and covered in blood that he hoped was mainly not his own, but positively lustrous in the sunlight.

“Come on.” He gasped as he grabbed his hand, pulling him away. Despite being still unsteady on his feet, he followed after him with as much energy as he could muster. The two of them ran to catch up to Sapnap and Bad, never once letting go of each other’s hands. Neither willing, nor wanting to. Outraged cries followed behind him, the mercenaries not willing to give up the fight so quickly.

He didn’t have to look back to know that they were following closely behind. He could hear enough to know.

There was a squeeze on his hand. “We’re almost there.” Clay sounded out of breath and when he looked at him, he could see red coloured his cheeks. The rest of him looked pale though. Worryingly so. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before but chalked it up to being too busy with trying not to die. He ran with an unsteady, limping gait, but he refused to stop for even a second.

A man sat at the door of the horse enclosure that travellers left their horses in, listlessly flicking through the pages of a book. For the barest of moments he wondered how they were going to get their horses in and out quickly without questions being asked, but that thought was answered not a moment later.

The man looked up when he noticed them approaching, then baulked when he saw their appearances and promptly backed off without a word.

Being dirty and bloodstained was a good way to intimidate people, he supposed.

Darting to his horse, he untied the reins and vaulted onto the saddle. He didn’t even wait to get his feet in the stirrups properly before he was urging the startled animal to turn and run. Clay took the lead once more, directing his horse along the road. Without question, the three Templars followed him, leaving the town and the mercenaries in the dust behind them.

-

Dream swayed in his place on the horse. Every bump his horse made jostled him painfully, though he pushed through it. Focus on getting to their destination now, worry about his injuries later. It just didn’t help that every little move reminded him of his aches and pains.

Luckily for him-for them all-they were nearly there. Just down this road and through a field, and they were there.

Thank god. All four of them were practically asleep in their saddles. Since they had lost the mercenaries a long time ago, the threat of death was no longer nipping at their heels. It didn’t mean that their worries were over though. Not by a long shot. Now that the adrenaline of the fight had faded, they were all drained. Worn out from battle and stress alike.

None had said a word for the longest of times. Whether because they were too tired to, or because they just had nothing to say, he didn’t know. He just knew that he himself barely had enough energy to keep himself upright, let along carry a conversation along.

Then again, what was he going to say to them?

_‘Ha-ha, funny story. So it turns out I’ve been alive all this time and I’m an Assassin now. The weather’s nice today though.’_

No, that’s ridiculous.

When he was all patched up and free of blood, and maybe, just maybe, caught up on some well-deserved sleep, he would have a proper talk with them.

But first he had to get cleaned up. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he collapsed during a simple conversation, after all. What he wouldn’t give to just be able to throw himself into a river right now. Or take a nice, hot bath…

That thought alone was enough to keep him going.

Cold, soothing relief trickled through him when the sight of a cottage rose up into view. It wasn’t exactly a huge building, but it wasn’t small either. Enough for him to live in without having to worry about being claustrophobic or running out of room. He knew it was also definitely big enough to house all of them for an indefinite amount of time.

It was a homely-looking place, with a thatch roof, vine-covered walls, and a well-kept garden stretching around the perimeter. Not to mention the green and golden fields that stretched out around the house in all directions. Wheat and grapes and all other kinds of produce decorated the land around, along with the few other cottages dotted across the acres of plantations. An apple tree grove was visible in the distance, neat rows of the blooming trees visible.

He absently noted that they were probably going to be ready to harvest soon and the farmers who owned the lands would be out to collect the fruits of their labour. Maybe he should offer his help to them again when they did. More often than not the kindly people would accept his offer and then later load him full of produce as a thank-you. Despite having only lived there for about a year, he’d developed a sort of… kinship with the folks that lived there.

He made a mental note to visit some of his neighbours when things calmed down again. It’s been a while since he’d been back here, and even longer since he’s spoken with any of them.

He’d just been too busy with missions for a while.

“We’re here.” He sighed, steering his horse towards the paddock he let his horse graze in when the weather was good.

“Where exactly is here?” Sapnap spoke up. The first thing he’s said in miles. It was a quiet question. Almost quiet enough for it not to be heard, if not for the silence that otherwise hung over them. Stiflingly so.

“This is my home.”

He went quiet again at that.

Dream swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. He nearly buckled when a shooting pain lanced up his leg but held tight onto the saddle for support. Then George was at his side, placing a hand on his arm.

“Are you okay?” He asked, soft with concern for him.

The brunet himself didn’t look so great either, with dried blood flaking from a nasty cut on his eyebrow and a dark bruise starting to form on his cheek. He looked like his lip was split too. Yet he still looked at him with worry in his eyes.

“I’ll be fine.” He said, giving him the best smile he could muster. It probably looked more like a grimace, but still. Points for trying, right?

“You’re a terrible liar.” George shook his head, though he did let go of him again and dropped it for now.

“So I’ve been told.” He tugged his horse along gently, trying his best to keep himself from limping too badly. He didn’t know when, but at sound point he’d received a brutal kick to his knee. While not life threatening, it was still a major hindrance to him. And running with the injury had been less than good for his knee as well.

He just hoped that it was only bruised and that the damage wasn’t too major. Fighting, walking, climbing, all of it would be near impossible if it were. That would definitely be an issue in the future.

He swung the gate open and ushered the horses inside, not bothering to unsaddle them. They could deal for a few hours longer. He would come back and do it later. When he wasn’t on his last legs.

“Come on. I’ll get you guys patched up.”

Cleaning out and treating their injuries didn’t take all that long, thankfully. They’d gotten away with mostly only bruises and scrapes, as well as the few cuts. The only person that had needed stitches was Bad, who suffered from a deep gash on his side.

He was a good patient though, keeping his complaints to himself and not moving away from him when it was particularly sore. Much better than he was when he had to get stitches for anything.

“How come you know how to do all this?” Sapnap asked, fiddling with the bandage wrapped around his hand. He didn’t sound quite… bitter, but he didn’t sound like his usual self either. A sulky sort of quality that he wasn’t used to lined his voice.

“The Assassins train all their students how to take care of injuries. In case we’re hurt in the field and no one is around to help. We all need to have at least a basic knowledge of medical aid.” He explained, tying off the stitches with unsteady hands.

Now he could finally deal with his own wounds. He’d pressed a cloth to his shoulder to keep himself from bleeding all over the place, deeming it suitable enough for him to ignore for the time being. A stupid choice? Probably. Because now he felt his stomach roiling unpleasantly and sweat pooling in his palms and trickling down the back of his neck.

He would be fine though. As long as the others were being treated, he didn’t mind having to wait his turn.

He wrapped a bandage around his friend’s waist, covering the neatly closed off cut.

“Thank you.” Bad said quietly.

Dream didn’t give him a reply, only nodded once in acknowledgement. He pulled away, wiping his bloodied fingers on a rag.

Sapnap looked away, trying to stifle a yawn behind his hand. Now that he thought about it, it was getting pretty dark outside already. And after having an adrenaline drop like that, anyone would be drop dead exhausted.

He pushed himself to his feet, resting his weight on his good leg. His hand automatically went to press down on his shoulder, putting pressure on the bloodstained cloth.

“I’ll show you guys to your rooms.” Seeing Bad about to protest, he quickly continued, “We can talk about all of… _this_ tomorrow. I promise, I’ll tell you everything.”

He and Sapnap exchanged a look, but ultimately crumbled, their need for sleep winning them over.

“Okay.” BadBoyHalo agreed, picking up his previously discarded shirt and slipping the bloodied garment on, before scooping up his cloak into his hands as well. Sapnap said nothing, just folded his arms over his chest.

George waved a dismissive hand at them when they turned to look at him, wondering why he hadn’t moved from where he sat at the kitchen table. “I’m gonna stay here a bit longer.” He explained with a shrug.

They accepted it wordlessly, trailing after Dream as he limped through his house. He used the walls for support, trailing his hands along the plaster. The stairs were a bit more difficult to traverse with his knee like this, but when he used the railing he managed just fine.

Sapnap and Bad were both silent behind him, though Bad did occasionally move to walk to his side, glancing at him every so often. As if reminding him that he was there and would aid him if he wanted any help. While he did appreciate it, he wasn’t an invalid. He was sore, not useless.

“Here are the guest rooms. My room is just down the hallway.” He indicated where his bedroom was with a hand. “You can choose whichever one you want.” The rooms might’ve been a bit dusty from disuse, but he was sure they wouldn’t mind. “You’ll also find some spare clothes in the cupboards.”

Sapnap brushed past him and stepped into the room, wordlessly closing the door behind him.

Dream blinked, taken aback by his brusque behaviour.

“He’s angry.” Bad murmured. When he looked at him he saw his eyes shining. Wet with something that looked very much like tears. He blinked rapidly, as if forcing them back though. “He- _we_ thought you were dead. For so long. And then out of the blue you just appear, and we’re suddenly on the run, and…” He trailed off, choking up.

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to do _except_ apologise. He knew just how… upsetting having your world turned upside down was. And he understood. Sapnap had every right to be angry at him. They both did.

“You don’t have to apologise.” Bad shook his head, taking off his glasses for a moment so he could wipe his eyes. “He’ll be all right soon, I think. He just needs time. It’s been… It’s been a rough day. For all of us.”

Before he could say a word in response, Bad was pulling him into a hug. Despite the way his back twinged and his shoulder ached, he hugged him back immediately, being careful not to touch his injured side at all.

He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed his hugs until now. He was a gregarious person; he always knew that. He thrived off of physical contact and affection. So lacking friends who were as cuddly as he was had made him crave such touches, draining him in a way that he hadn’t even realised.

He hadn’t made all that many friends with the Assassins, and certainly not ones who he felt comfortable enough to be as ‘touchy’ as he was with his closer friends. And while Techno did hug him and would hold him when he felt particularly down, he knew he wasn’t as big a fan of it as he was. So he’d never forced his affections onto him.

“We missed you, Clay.” Bad pulled away first, a small smile on his face. One that was sad, but warm at the same time. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I missed you too.” He admitted, rubbing his arm.

“Of course you did, you muffin.” He scoffed playfully as he stepped into his room.

He couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at that. “Goodnight, Bad.”

“Night.” He closed the door behind him with one last fond smile.

He let out a long exhale, allowing himself to lean against the wall to catch his breath for a moment. He was tired… and gross. He had to patch himself up now.

He slowly made his way back downstairs again, taking his time. George was still sitting where he had left him, staring down at the wooden table with a faraway look in his eyes. Choosing not to disturb him in his thoughts, he quietly lit the lamps in the kitchen, allowing light to fill the rapidly darkening room. Once it was lit up enough, he slumped down into a chair and promptly began unbuttoning his shirt.

The once white material was marred with dirt and stained with already dried blood. Great, another item of clothing of his that he would have to throw away. He slipped it off his arms, letting it fall into a small heap on the floor.

If he had thought his shirt was dirty, his body was much worse. Bloodied and scraped and bruised and smeared with dirt. He wanted to wash himself off so desperately, but he couldn’t yet. If he let the wound on his shoulder bleed any longer, he might actually pass out.

Focusing on cleaning the wounds out for now, he soaked an already bloodied rag in the bucket of water on the floor next to him. The once clear water had faded into the lightest of pinks from blood, clouding the liquid. He didn’t care though. If he wanted to get clean water he would have to make a trip to the water tap and he was _not_ feeling up to doing that again. Not in the state he was in.

He carefully wiped away the dirt and dried blood that clung to his skin like a parasite, wringing the piece of fabric out and dipping it into the water again every time it got too dirty. It wasn’t exactly quick work, with all the little cuts he’d gotten, but it had to be done. He didn’t exactly want to get an infection.

It was also quite icy. Without a shirt for warmth and the cold feeling of water on his body, he was already shivering. It didn’t help that the sun was gone by now as well, replaced by the cold chill of the night.

He finally moved his attention to the worst of the wounds: his shoulder. It wasn’t a very long thing, though it was deep, and it stung like hell. Much to his chagrin, he knew that that one would definitely need stitches. It was just irritating that he’d have to do it himself.

Letting the rag lay on the wound, he tried to thread the needle. He hated how his hands shook like they didn’t usually, making it harder than it should’ve been to put the thin thread through the eye. Probably because he was weak with blood loss.

When he eventually managed to get it, he was willing to cry with relief. He didn’t though, and instead took to stitching the gash in his flesh closed. It was hard trying to do it himself, awkward with the way he had to twist his arm to get the right angle, and it hurt a lot more than it would have if someone else-someone more skilled-did it.

He felt eyes on him, burning through him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, or look up from his bloody work. It took him far longer than he would have liked, but he managed to pull his skin together and tie a knot that was good enough to keep it from reopening. Unless he did something stupid like get into another fight, that is.

It was a sloppy, far from perfect job, but it would do. 

Only when he was done struggling with wrapping a long bandage around the wound did he finally look up again. George had snapped out of his thoughts some time ago, and was looking at him unashamedly, resting his chin on his hand from where he leaned on the table.

He was staring at his chest, eyes glinting. For a moment he felt a flicker of embarrassment wash over him and he felt the urge to cover himself up. He wasn’t usually shy, especially not around George, who he had been roommates with for years and friends for even longer. But there was _something_ about the way he was staring at him, so intently, that made him unsure of himself.

“You kept the necklace.” He whispered, sounding almost… amazed?

His doubt faded away. His hand automatically reached up to wrap his fingers around the warm metal of his wolf pendant. Clutching onto it had become somewhat of a nervous habit over the months. A silent comfort that always stayed with him, no matter what.

He looked down at it, tracing the pad of his thumb over the engravings that he had imprinted in his mind from doing exactly that so many times before. He knew every detail of it like he knew the back of his hand. Tiny specks of blood marred the otherwise perfect metal, and he made a mental note to clean it later.

“I’ve never taken it off.” He confessed.

A smile, slow and proud, tugged at his lips. He didn’t say anything in response to it, though that look of his said it all.

“Do you mind looking at my back? I can’t exactly see it for myself.” He asked, unravelling the old bandage that had wrapped around his torso.

“I don’t know a thing about fixing injuries, Clay.”

“You don’t have to. I just want to make sure the stitches haven’t broken.” He turned in his seat until he had his back towards him, not really giving him a choice in the matter.

George hesitated for a moment uncertainly, but then gave in and leaned forward. “It’s… bleeding a little bit.”

“But have the stitches ripped?” He pressed, trying to look over his shoulder to see the old injury.

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

“Bleeding is good?” George asked dubiously, meeting his eyes.

“Yes-no-just, please clean the blood off for me. It’s fine.” He passed him the still wet rag, gifting him with a sweet smile when he frowned at him in response.

“Fine.” Despite the exasperated tone of his voice, his touch was gentle against his skin. He pressed the cloth against him like he was terrified of hurting him, just light enough to wipe the blood away and nothing more.

A sigh exhaled out from behind him, his breath fanning against the back of his neck and sending goosebumps crawling along his skin.

“…I’m sorry.” He blinked, not expecting that. He looked over his shoulder to meet his gaze, confusion furrowing his brows. “For… this.” He brushed the tips of his fingers against his still sensitive wound with a touch as light as a feather, shooting a shiver down his spine.

Oh.

His expression softened. “It’s all right, George. You didn’t know.”

“Yeah, but… I’m still sorry. I never wanted to hurt _you_.”

“I know.”

They carried on in silence, George dutifully clearing away the small bits of blood and other nasty fluids that had leaked out of the healing wound during the fight. While he knew- _hoped_ -that the by now almost a week-old wound was steadily healing, the fight must not have been good for it.

George was a lot more tender than Techno usually was with him. He wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t really know what he was doing, or if he just really didn’t want to hurt him, but it was nice either way. Before he knew it, his friend was handing him the cloth back again.

“I’m done.” He told him, leaning back in his seat and putting some distance between them.

For a moment he felt almost disappointed that he pulled away so quickly, but he shoved that thought aside and instead focused on manoeuvring a new, clean bandage around his chest. It was significantly harder to tell where he had to aim it, and once or twice George had to adjust it from behind for him, but he got it done.

“Thanks.”

He dropped the rag in the considerably murkier water, watching it impassively as it sank down to the bottom of the bucket. He knew he should probably throw the water out now, else it might attract flies, but found he had no energy, no _desire_ left to do even such a menial task. Besides, it was cold out tonight. He doubted any insects would find their way inside.

Speaking of it being cold…

“I’ll get a fire going.” Despite the way his body groaned painfully at the thought, he pushed through and stood up. His entire being ached for sleep, moaning and whining for a chance to rest his weary bones. He hadn’t been able to relax properly for days, and now that he was in the comfort of his home, his soul wept for a chance to rest.

“You look tired.” George commented, pushing himself to his feet as well. “Let me do that.” He himself didn’t look exactly up to doing anything other than sitting around, though his eyes were strong with his resolve.

He looked as though he had been in a war which, in a way, he had. Mottled bruising stretched up along his face and a bandage wrapped around his head, though he was sure he looked better than him anyway.

He always looked better than him, but that’s not the point.

He did feel guilty about his appearance though. _He_ had caused him to get hurt, after all. He had nearly gotten them all killed, just because he couldn’t stand staying away any longer.

No. This was a good thing. They might be hurt and in over their heads, but this was better than the alternative. Being with the Templars was worse than anything else.

“We can do it together.” He traded a tired smile with him and carefully made his way into the living room. It was a simple room, decorated sparsely, but smartly in a way that revolved around the fireplace. After all, it could get pretty cold here when the weather wasn’t great. Most of all though, it looked lived in. Homely. And from the look on George’s face, he saw it too.

He slowly crouched down before the neat little fireplace, leaning on the bricks for support. Without needing any prompting, George brought him some wood and kindling, making the trip across the room that might’ve taken him a good minute to complete in his state in only a couple of seconds.

With a confidence that only came through practice, he steadily built a fire, piling on logs and lighting it until the whole room was a furnace of heat. With his task done, he finally allowed himself a moment to rest, shuffling to the couch and collapsing backwards onto it. George followed his lead and sat beside him, pulling up his legs onto the sofa.

Assuming he did it because he was cold, Dream tugged a thick woollen blanket out from the basket it remained in until it was needed, pulling it up until it draped warmly over their laps.

It had been a gift from the sheep farmer down the road after he had helped him out when he was sick. The kind old man had been so grateful that he had refused to let him leave without giving him something.

George smiled at him thankfully, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders.

They went quiet, sitting together in a comfortable silence, slowly warming up in the welcoming presence of both the fire and each other’s body heat. His eyes rested on the flames as they danced and twisted captivatingly. Sparks flickered through the air, twinkling little things that got snuffed out only seconds after they spun through the air. The steady crackling and popping sounds were enough to lull him in a dazed trance, eyes focusing and unfocusing of their own volition. Orange light shifted across the otherwise dark room, casting obscure shadows and shapes along the walls. Forever moving and changing.

It was… peaceful. Warm and soothing and so blessedly _calm_.

He didn’t even notice he had started drifting off until his head dropped down onto George’s shoulder. He startled upright, blinking vigorously.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes in a vain attempt to keep himself awake.

George let out a breathy laugh, one that was far quieter than he was used to. As if he was afraid to disturb the peace. “It’s fine.” Despite his gentle assurance, he fought to keep his eyes open and his brain awake. And like he sensed his resolve, George spoke again, “How’s your leg?”

“It’s all right.” He answered, experimentally stretching his leg out. The joint twinged painfully and he couldn’t help but grimace, but at least it wasn’t as bad as it had previously been. “At least it’s not broken. Might just be some bad bruising.” He folded his head into the crook of his elbow, muffling the yawn that stretched across his face.

“That’s good.” George murmured.

He hummed his agreement, not bringing himself to say anything else.

“You can go to sleep if you want to.” He reminded him, gently bumping his shoulder against his.

“I’m not tired.” Dream protested, shaking his head. His denial was probably undermined by his appearance though.

“I’m not dumb, Clay. You look terrible.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“I’m serious.” He didn’t give a response to that, just averted his gaze. Unable to stare into the concern in his eyes any longer. “Go to sleep.”

He let out a sigh, leaning into his side. “Not yet. I… want to stay up with you a bit longer.” He admitted quietly.

“…Okay.” The brunette gave in after considering his words for a good few moments. He then changed the subject entirely, looking around the dark room with curious eyes. “So, how long have you been living here?”

It was clear he was making an effort to distract him from his fatigue, and he was immensely grateful for that. He tugged the blanket up further around him. He didn’t really need to, seeing as he was warm enough as it is, but it was soft and cosy.

“About a year now. My parents bought this place and left it to me for when I turned eighteen.” He explained. “I spend most of my free time here, when I’m not needed at the compound or for missions. My uncle showed this place to me before I became an Assassin. He’d been using it as a safehouse until he realised I was alive. Now it’s mine.”

“You have an uncle?”

“Yeah. He’s nice… He’s an Assassin like my parents were. I think you’d like him.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged noncommittally. “But would he like me?” Dream turned his head to give him a confused look. At the look, he elaborated. “I’m a _Templar_. Would an Assassin like him really get along with someone who was trained to kill them?”

“I was a Templar too.” He reminded him.

“Yeah, but you’re different.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that.

Because honestly? It was a concern of his too. What if they _didn’t_ like George and the others? What if they decided not to trust them, and instead turned them away?

What if they turned _Dream_ away for what he did?

He exhaled slowly, hating the way his breath quivered with his unease. “I don’t even know if _I’ll_ be welcome there anymore. I guess we’ll just have to see.”

“What do you mean?” George asked, going still next to him.

“I… I kind of left without being ordered to, and I didn’t tell anyone where I was going either.” He said, wincing slightly. “I’ve been gone for… what, three? Four days now?”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want them to find out what I was doing in case any of them tried to stop me.”

“And now you’re worried they’ll kick you out?”

He didn’t have to answer that out loud for him to know.

A hand in his hair melted him, washing away his anxious thoughts in mere seconds. Fingers carded over his head, making him shiver. His eyes flicked closed and he leaned into the hand, resisting the urge to groan at the feeling. What can he say? He adored it when people played with his hair. That much hadn’t changed over the years.

This time he didn’t even notice the fact that George was attempting to distract him from his worry, too absorbed in the feeling of him gently running his fingers through his too-long hair.

“You’re like a dog, you know that, right?”

“Because I like being touched?”

“Because you’re big and dumb.”

“You love me anyway.” He didn’t look at him, too boneless and completely relaxed against his friend to do so, but he did smile dopily.

“You’re way too confident about that.”

He forced his eyes open, drowsily lifting his gaze to meet his. He didn’t know when he had let his head drop onto his shoulder again, though he found he didn’t mind this time. He didn’t jolt away.

“Because I know you do.” His voice came out softer than he thought it would. Softer, and fond. Warm with his affection for him.

And by the blush that coloured his cheeks, George had heard it too.

“You’re an idiot, Clay.” He grumbled.

He didn’t deny that.

George’s face twisted slightly a moment later, as if unsure of himself. “…Should I call you that?”

He blinked, surprised by the sudden change.

“Call me what?” He questioned.

“Clay. Or should I… Should I call you Dream?”

He hesitated, deliberating over his words. He himself wasn’t certain. Because on one hand… It was George. He’d known him all his life. He knew _Clay._ On the other hand though… He wasn’t the same person he had been a year ago. He was Dream now.

“I… I’ll always be Clay, but… Clay died over a year ago in those woods.” His words came out awkward and uncertain as he tried to find the right words to explain himself. “I’m still me, I’m just…”

“You’re just Dream now.” George finished for him.

“Yeah.”

The brunet nodded in understanding, soothingly petting the top of his head. “Okay… Dream.”

He nearly cried then and there, so overwhelmingly relieved and grateful for his unwavering support. He was too tired too though. Even his emotions were too exhausted to be out in full effect. Which was admittedly nice, because he had cried far too much in the past week or so as it is.

“Thanks for saving me back there. I really thought that was it.”

“I should be saying the same thing to you _._ ” He couldn’t hold back a tired chuckle at that, his exhaustion slowly pulling his mind elsewhere, though he tried valiantly to stay focused on his words. “You were a knight in shining armour today.” He sighed happily, stifling another laugh when George flushed and scowled at the same time.

“Just… Shut up and go to sleep already.”

He wheezed inaudibly, shoulders shaking with his fatigue-induced laughter. “Fine, fine.”

At the flustered order, he settled down properly, allowing himself to relax fully against his friend. George didn’t complain or move away, only leaned against him further. Completely relaxed against each other. Despite not having a shirt on, Dream wasn’t even remotely cold. With the warm body pressed against his, he had all the heat he needed. Or wanted, in that case.

Sometimes it made him wonder why George put up with his cuddles so much. Everyone knew that he wasn’t exactly fond of physical contact like he was, yet he had never denied his affectionate ways, and had never looked uncomfortable with it. He’d welcomed it, in fact.

Maybe it had something to do with their kiss.

No, that much was a given. And it made his whole body tingly in a way that he had never felt before.

He absently traced his fingers in nonsensical patterns on the shorter male’s leg, staying still other than that. He knew, somewhere in his fading thoughts, that this wouldn’t be the most comfortable place to sleep in. They would probably wake up stiff and sore, and there were more than enough rooms to house all four of them.

He couldn’t bring himself to care though. He was here, with George. He didn’t care about the rest.

He finally let himself go, eyes sinking closed.

They didn’t speak again that night. Neither of them acknowledged how their last meeting had ended, nor did they have to. They just basked in the comfort of each other and the warm glow of the fire, drifting off into the calmness of sleep that they both so deserved. And for the first time in god knows how long, both of them slept peacefully through the night.

Without a single disturbance.

-

By the time Dream had finally woken up again, the fire had died completely, leaving only the faint traces of warmth in the ashes, and the sun was already up and shining. It was a miracle that the light hadn’t disturbed him sooner. He must’ve been out like a rock to have slept through that.

His body ached with a stiffness that came from fighting, but he felt too well-rested to care. He was warm too. So comfortably warm, that the world could have been frozen over and he wouldn’t care.

He snuggled into the warmth, tugging the source of it close to his chest. The sharp ache in his shoulder at the action stabbed through him unpleasantly, though he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not with something heavy pressed into his chest, and softness brushing beneath his chin.

The faint sound of footsteps nearby roused him further from his haze of comfort and sleep. He cracked his eyes open, blearily looking down to see a mop of brunet hair tucked into his neck. George clung onto him in his sleep, face relaxed and peaceful in a way that made him look so… so vulnerable and open that it made him breathless. Despite being bruised and scraped up, he still looked as perfect as he always did.

The footsteps approached nearer, and he reluctantly tore his eyes off of the sleeping face, blinking away the blurriness that lingered in his eyes.

Only to see Techno standing in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and an angry look on his face.

Oh sh-

“What the _fuck_ is going on here?”


	6. Chapter VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it! The last official chapter of this book. There will be a next chapter, but it’s not going to be very plot heavy. More of a bonus chapter, with snippets of slice of life moments with the boys. This chapter is a monster though, just a little warning. It’s the longest one I've written yet!
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3

“So let me get this straight…” Techno shifted his narrow-eyed gaze between the four of them in turns, pausing on each one for a good few seconds before moving on again. Dream and Bad were unfortunate enough to be sitting directly opposite the Assassin at the kitchen table, both avoiding that piercing look of his as best they could. George perched on the edge of a countertop, legs swinging slowly, while Sapnap stood leaning against the doorway. None of them looked thrilled about any of this.

Dream least of all.

“You left without telling anyone, followed and snuck into an enemy camp, confronted Johnson-a _Master_ Templar, and brought even more Templars to your own house?” He spoke slowly as he went over the facts, like he was talking to a child. Or an idiot. Yeah, the second one sounded more plausible to him.

He shifted uneasily, toying with the hem of his hastily thrown-on shirt. “Coffee?” He offered nervously in place of an answer.

“ _Dream_.” The glare he got at that was enough to put anyone to shame. He squirmed beneath the heat of his gaze, properly chastised without him needing to even say anything else. The silence between them crackled with a tension that he wasn’t all too familiar with.

To his surprise, neither of them were the ones to break it.

“I could... do with some tea, if… if you’re… Offering…” Bad’s voice was small and it trailed off clumsily when Techno turned his irritation onto him.

_‘You’re a god send, Bad.’_

Taking that as his merciful saving grace, Dream made his getaway, patting Bad on the shoulder gratefully as he passed him. He busied himself with boiling water and getting cups out, relieved to be free of his quiet anger. While Techno wasn’t exactly the friendliest person to people he didn’t know, he also wasn’t one that was quick to anger either. Seeing him like this now, and with his frustrations aimed at him in particular, gave him a feeling he’d much rather never get again.

“Anybody else want anything?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at the others.

Sapnap shook his head, silently declining his offer.

“I’m good, thanks.” George spoke softly, as if afraid to be overheard.

He looked further back at Techno, meeting his eyes questioningly. For a moment, the stony look on his face faded, revealing a gentler, much more _tired_ expression. The hard lines of his frown softened fractionally with an intense worry that made him look twice his age. Then it was gone again and he averted his gaze.

“Coffee, please. You know how I like it.” He sighed, running a hand over his face. Much less intimidating now, though he tried to keep his front up.

He hesitated, the sour taste of guilt coating his tongue. Despite his bite, he knew that Techno must’ve been worried about him. For all he knew, Dream could have been dead. Or worse.

He couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been when he realised he was just… gone.

Bad cleared his throat apprehensively. “I uhm… I like your hair.” He said, looking for any way to ease the tension.

“Thanks, I grew it myself.” Techno drawled sarcastically.

Dream snorted despite himself, unable to keep his sudden amusement to himself.

“Hey, you don’t get to laugh at that. I’m still mad at you.” He complained.

“Oh what, I’m not allowed to laugh now?”

“No.” The pink haired male protested stubbornly. Not unlike a child.

He laughed anyway, his shoulders untensing for the first time since he’d woken up.

It had all happened way too quick.

He’d opened his eyes to see his friend standing in front of him, distressed at what he saw. He had tried to leave George without waking him up, but their hushed arguing had done that soon enough anyway. The brunet, to his credit, took the situation well. Of course he was confused and wary of the newcomer, but he didn’t exactly get riled up by Techno’s outrage like Dream almost had. It might have had something to do with the fact that he was still half asleep during it.

Sapnap and Bad had come storming downstairs soon after, brandishing their weapons and tripping over themselves in their bleary hurry. Introductions had been pretty awkward after that.

Though not nearly as awkward as they had been when they gathered in the kitchen afterwards. That in itself was its own sort of hell to go through.

Dream finished up and placed the steaming beverages on the table, internally grateful that he had had enough forethought to buy enough sugar, tea, and coffee to last him a good while. It was just unfortunate that he hadn’t been here long enough to stock up on some of the more perishable things he liked to use.

“Thank you.” Bad smiled sweetly at him, highly contrasting the vague grunt Techno gave him as his thanks.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Techno asked around a mouthful of coffee, seemingly immune to being burnt by the still scalding hot water.

“The plan?” Dream repeated him curiously as he took a seat again, wrapping his own fingers around his cup of coffee, revelling in the warmth it spread through his hands.

“You know, what exactly are you gonna do now? You’ve “rescued” some Templars. What’s the next step?” He used finger quotes around the word, causing him to bristle. His blasé, almost bitter tone wasn’t one he was entirely unused to, but it still stung to hear it directed at him.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” He admitted, forcing himself to keep his cool even when he heard a mutinous mumble of, _‘Of course you haven’t…’_ “I’ll figure something out though.”

“You have to do it quickly then. Grian wants to see you. Or he _did_ , before you went missing.”

“About what?” He asked, his confusion colouring his voice.

“I don’t know. But now I guess it’ll be something new entirely.” Techno shrugged languidly. “They’re not gonna be happy with all this and you know it.”

He did know it.

“Okay. Just… Give me some time. I’ve promised them explanations and you coming here kinda... interrupted it.” He told him.

Okay, that was clearly the wrong thing to say, because Techno’s face darkened into a scowl.

“I’ve interrupted it? Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to _interrupt_ you and your _explanation_. Next time I’ll just not bother with coming to find you. Wouldn’t want to interrupt what you’ve got going on.”

He tensed, about to open his mouth to protest, but Sapnap beat him to it.

“Look, I get that you’re mad or whatever, but can you lay off a bit? We _just_ got here. I’m sure the Assassins or whoever can wait.” He snapped. “You’re not helping.” Bad shifted from beside him and buried his face in his tea, as if he could sink into it and be done with the conversation already. He heard George sigh from behind him as well. Both clearly expecting a fight to break out.

A flush of colour crawled up Techno’s cheeks and he turned a furious look towards the dark-haired Templar. “Excuse me?”

“Techno, Sapnap, that’s enough.” Dream intervened before things got too messy, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle a full-on fight right now. He looked at Sapnap, catching his eyes. “I promised I would tell you everything, and I’m going to stick by that. And you,” He then shifted his attention back to Techno again. “Let’s go talk somewhere in private.”

The Assassin stared at him for a few moments, scrutinous eyes searching his face until the silence had stretched out for much longer than he was comfortable with. “All right.” He pushed his chair back and stood up when he did, the two of them leaving the kitchen.

He noticed mildly that his leg was already feeling much better. Despite there being a very faint ache that moved through his knee when he put too much weight on it, the pain was far from significant. A good night’s sleep had done him well, and for that he was glad.

As soon as they were out of earshot, he turned to Techno again, the two of them stopping in place. The other male was decidedly not looking at him, instead staring intently at a painting he had hung up to decorate the hallway.

He had a lot of things he wanted to say to say to him, but none of them were quite right. He had to try though.

“What I said back there, it didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean to offend you, I just… Things have been happening too quickly.” He tried to explain himself.

“That’s not what I’m mad about, Dream.” Techno scoffed, shaking his head. He turned to face him finally, and he was shocked to see that he looked like he was about to cry. “I was _worried_ about you. When you just disappeared suddenly, I thought…” His voice cracked with emotions that he rarely showed. “You were just gone. Without a note, without telling anyone, you just up and vanished. I thought that I had… I thought I lost you. Again.”

His heart clenched painfully in his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly. He found himself saying that a lot lately… but he had a lot to apologise and atone for. He hadn’t exactly been thinking about anyone but himself lately, and that had hurt those around him without him even knowing it. Without him having the consideration to even realise it.

Techno wasn’t finished though. He didn’t even seem to hear his apology.

“And now suddenly, you’re just… You’re working with Templars? You know more than most how… how evil they can be! How dangerous working with them is. You can’t be serious about all this!”

“That’s exactly why I couldn’t just leave them back there.” He protested, caught off guard by his distressed outburst. Though guilt clutched at his chest with its icy fingers, he wasn’t about to back down. “They’re not just Templars.”

“Then what are they?” Bright, expressive eyes met swiftly hardening ones. And for once his weren’t the former.

“They’re my family.”

“What about Grian?” He demanded. “What about _me_? I thought we were your family.”

Something fierce flashed through his gaze. “Don’t, Techno.” He warned him firmly. “Don’t do that. Don’t make me choose, because I won’t.” He didn’t miss the way his face contorted with his emotions. “I love all of you, don’t you get that?”

Techno’s voice came out soft, softer than he had heard in a very long time. “Then why would you just leave me?”

“I was always going to come back. You know I wouldn’t just abandon you.” When the Assassin didn’t say anything, he spoke for him. “You’re like a brother to me. You know that. But those people in there?” He found his gaze shifting through the doorframe and into the kitchen.

George was laughing at something that someone said, face radiant in the soft morning light. Bad was very clearly trying to stifle his laughter in his cup of tea, but was failing miserably. Sapnap had taken a seat at the table at some point and looked more relaxed than he had seen him being in a long time.

He exhaled, not bothering to keep the affection from his face. “They’re my brothers too.”

When he looked back again, Techno was looking into the kitchen too, a somber sort of understanding lining his expression.

“I… I get it.” He finally murmured on an exhale. He ran a hand over his face, schooling his expression as much as he could. “I’m not happy that you left without telling me, but… I understand.”

He let out a relieved breath, the tension draining from his body at the soft admission.

“Thank you.” He couldn’t keep a small smile from easing on his face.

“You… You are still coming back to the Creed though… right?” He sounded unusually unsure of himself.

“Of course I am.” He paused and cringed. “Unless… they won’t take me back.”

“What? Why wouldn’t they?”

“Well, I don’t think they’re gonna be thrilled with me after what I did.”

“They won’t kick you out though. They _can’t_. You’re the best Assassin we’ve got.” He argued immediately.

“That’s not true.” He reminded him gently. While he did appreciate the faith he had in him, he knew it wasn’t all founded on the truth. He was good, sure. But here were many better than him anyway.

“Still. They can’t…” He trailed off, at a loss for words.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see when we go back.” And hope, of course.

“When?” Of course Techno would want to know. But in all honesty, he hadn’t thought about that just yet. “We- _you_ should go back soon. You know that Grian’s been worried about you.”

“I’ll… I’ll try. I just have a few things I need to do first.” He assured him.

The pink haired male nodded, accepting his answer, before flicking his eyes back to the kitchen again. “The one you were with this morning… George?” He asked suddenly.

“George.” He confirmed, not all too sure where he was going with that, and a bit wary about his intentions. After all, he’d found them tangled up together this morning, and he had no idea what he thought about it. Of course he was concerned.

“He’s not the same as the others are to you, is he? He’s different.”

He could feel heat blossom on his face, and he looked away, hoping that he hadn’t caught the way he blushed at the mere suggestion. It was Techno though. Of course he would notice it.

“…Yeah.” He admitted. “Yeah, he is.”

Techno looked at him, something playful and familiar glinting in his eyes. There was still a hint of his unhappiness that he could see, though he tried hard to hide it. He had been with him long enough to know his tells. But he no longer looked wretched, or angry.

He was relieved to see that.

“Do you love him?”

He didn’t even blink at the question. “Of course I do.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that.” Techno huffed, rolling his eyes, as if he knew he would say that. Because of course he would, he’s Dream. “Are you _in_ love with him?”

Now that question gave him pause. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again.

He… wasn’t sure.

He averted his gaze, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck.

He found himself looking to the kitchen again, as if searching there would give him an answer to that.

The object of his confusion remained where he had left him. Blissfully unaware of the conflict raging within him. He was busy trying to snatch his glasses out of Sapnap’s hand, who held it enticingly just out of his reach.

George… George made him feel things that no one else did. Warm and fluttery inside, as if flowers bloomed to life within him every time he was near. Plants that blossomed in his chest only in the summer of his presence. A forever growing garden within him.

Seeing him smile was enough to light up his world, and _being_ the one to make him smile was even better. No matter which smile it was; the one that beamed with sunny joy when he was happy, the reluctantly amused one that curled at the corners of his lips, the times where he would flash his teeth in that playful grin of his. All of them could make his heart sing.

He would lay down his life for him in a moment. Without thinking, without question, he would sacrifice it all for him.

He would do anything to make him happy.

…Was that love?

George laughed, eyes warm with his affection.

“Yes.” He breathed out. Barely inaudible, but still deafening with the meaning it held. “I am.”

By the time he managed to tear his eyes away from the heart-warming sight, Techno was staring at him, a soft smile on his face.

He cleared his throat, notably flustered. “What?”

“Nothing.” It wasn’t nothing. He did drop it though, and instead nudged him with an elbow. “I guess we should get back to the others now.” He made a turn to go, but Dream caught him by the shoulder.

“Wait.”

He tugged him into a hug and in only a moment, his friend had melted into his arms, despite not liking such physical contact. Or maybe he just claimed not to like it... Either way, he didn’t know and he didn’t care.

He didn’t force him to stay too long though, and parted again sooner than he’d have liked to, sharing a fond smile. The two of them walked back to the kitchen, silence hanging over them. Thankfully not nearly as tense as it had been before. The air was finally cleared between them.

All three of his friends looked up when he walked through the door. It seemed their moods had lifted too in the short time they were away. George met his eyes the moment he saw him, a lopsided grin tugging across his face in silent greeting. He’d gotten his glasses back again.

That smile…

He didn’t even know that he was smiling back at him like a fool until Techno was brushing past him with a faintly amused sigh. Snapping out of his reverie, he decided to take a seat next to Techno this time, seeing as Sapnap had taken his seat.

He caught the tail end of a conversation-or argument, rather-about how Sapnap had accidentally killed a fish, and Bad had been upset about it for a long time. He had no clue as to what exactly they were talking about though, so he didn’t pipe in.

“Anyway!” Bad turned to the two of them, deciding to change the subject before it got any more out of hand. “How did you guys meet?”

He and Techno traded a look. When the other didn’t speak up, he assumed that that was his prompt for him to answer for them.

“It’s… quite a long story.”

“Well there’s not really anywhere we need to be, so I think we’ve got the time.” Sapnap pointed out.

Dream looked between him and Bad and, seeing that both of them were looking at him expectantly, he caved in and prepared himself for a long explanation.

-

The five of them had spent another day in Dream’s cottage. After the Assassin had told Sapnap and Bad everything that happened, they had come to the decision to spend another night in the cosy house. To rest and recover a bit more before moving on again. Dream and Techno had to go back to the Assassins, after all.

He’d told the three Templars- ex-Templars? -that they could stay there while he was gone, but all three had immediately come to a unanimous, unspoken agreement that they were going with him.

_“We stick together.”_

Dream hadn’t said it, but George could see his relief. After all this time, he was still rubbish at hiding his emotions. It was as entertaining as it was endearing.

So they’d spent another night. This time they all slept in their own rooms, if not just to appease Techno. While he had let down his guard down significantly after his and Dreams' chat, he kept giving _him_ in particular odd looks, and refused to let either of them sleep on the couch again.

He’d claimed it was because he didn’t think either of them would be comfortable on it, but he suspected that wasn’t really the reason.

It might’ve had something to do with whatever he and Dream had talked about in private that morning, because when they came back again, there was a noticeable shift in their relationship.

Techno had become a lot more receptive to them, while Dream looked more… at ease with himself. Then there was that _look_ in his eyes.

He didn’t look unhappy, quite far from it. Almost like he knew something that they didn’t. He had no idea what, and his curiosity only grew when he didn’t say a thing. They’d shared smiles and he had felt utterly warmed by the way he was looking at him, and he lost the thought after that.

Techno wasn’t nearly as… Well, rude as he’d thought he was when he first met him. After all, when you’re woken up by a stranger arguing right in front of you, it’s hard to get any good impression from them. It also didn’t help that he was clearly angry with Dream. Or had been, rather.

Other than his terse attitude and the dubious glances though, George was fine with him. He didn’t know if he felt the same about _him_ , though he found that he didn’t care all that much.

He had also been quite adamant about not bringing them along, though Dream somehow wore him down until he wasn’t quite thrilled about it, but he accepted it. It was clear they trusted each other deeply, even as reluctant as the sarcastic man was.

That was how they found themselves sitting outside of a room, stared down by a pair of wary Assassins, and overhearing snippets of the shouting match that came through the cracks of the closed door.

George glanced at Bad and Sapnap in turns, both of them looking as uncomfortable as he felt right now. He had a feeling that they were ready to sink into the ground and disappear forever, especially under the intensely suspicious glares that their guards looked at them with. They had a right to be distrustful though. They were Templars, after all.

Used to be.

“-outrageous behaviour! Without even-”

“You haven’t even heard his-”

“We should… before he-”

He let out a slow breath, fiddling with his dark glasses absentmindedly. The world was washed over in the dull, boring colours of browns and yellows without them on, but he was used to it by now. It didn’t mean he liked those colours in the slightest anyway. Cleaning them with a sleeve gave him something to do though.

“Enough!”

The sounds went quiet for a while after that loud, stern command rang out. Loud enough for the cloaked people in front of them to shift awkwardly, as if it was aimed at them in particular.

Not for the first time, he wondered what was going on in there, and he silently offered Dream his condolences. On one hand he wanted to be in there with him for support, but on the other hand… He’d much rather stay away.

The moment they had entered the base, they were surrounded. The Assassins were clearly not comfortable with strangers, even if they had been brought in by Assassins themselves. It was probably only because both Dream and Techno had vouched for them vigorously that they weren’t taken down on the spot. Despite their assurances, they were treated with about as much trust as a snake around children would be.

They were escorted through the building, forced to endure the apprehensive looks and curious murmurs that followed wherever they went. At least they went unharmed. He knew the alternative could have been worse. _Much_ worse.

They had been brought to some people who were clearly in a higher status than the rest of them, a man with glasses and a warm disposition standing in the lead. He had a surprisingly small stature, and his whole body relaxed when he saw them. A polar opposite reaction to the others.

He’d scooped Dream into a bone crushing hug as soon as he stepped into the room, ignoring the elephant in the room completely in favour of gushing over him. He had endured it with more grace than George probably would have, apologising profusely beneath his breath and clutching back onto him just as tightly.

It was only when another Assassin cleared his breath that they parted again.

“Who are these people?” The man was an imposing figure despite his almost spindly body. He sneered at them, beady eyes staring imposingly at them. “And why are they here?”

The moment Dream mentioned the word, ‘Templars’, chaos erupted around them. The old man had demanded a trial and execution, while the unnamed Assassin that had hugged Dream attempted to calm everything down. At least they had one potential ally in this whole mess.

The only reason they weren’t currently locked up was because of the Assassin he vaguely remembered someone calling, “Grian”. He had intervened before the Assassins jumped them, despite them being unarmed and non-threatening. While he had looked apprehensive about them, he clearly trusted Dream’s judgement, because he had ordered them to stand down.

Dream had been brought into some kind of council meeting soon after, where they would, presumably, decide his fate. Techno had been allowed to join him, if not only to give his statement of the events, but George hadn’t been allowed to join them. Not that he really expected he would be allowed in.

“… _Templars_!”

George put his glasses back on, resisting the urge to sigh again. They’d been at it for a good while now, and he was starting to get stiff from sitting still in one place for so long. A shadow fell over him and he instinctively flinched back, snapping his gaze upwards. A new Assassin stood before him, a man with slicked back hair and a highly stylized moustache. The suited man studied him for a moment, before smiling.

“Are you three doing all right?” He asked kindly. “I know this must be pretty stressful for you.”

He stared.

He couldn’t help it, he was just surprised by the genuineness of his voice. Like he actually cared about their wellbeing, despite them being… Well, _them_. It took him aback.

He looked at Sapnap and Bad, who were just as at a loss for words as he was, then finally found his voice.

“No, we’re uh… We’re okay.” He answered for them.

“That’s good. I’m Mumbo Jumbo. You must be George?” Though he phrased it like a question, it was clear he knew the answer to that anyway, and before he could even think of saying a thing in response, he was already turning to his friends and pointing at each of them in turn. “Then you two are Sapnap and BadBoyHalo, correct?”

Shockingly, he was.

“How did you…?” Bad gawked, stunned by this enigmatic stranger.

“Educated guesses.” Mumbo’s eyes twinkled with something akin to humour. “Dream’s told me a lot about you. He’s very fond of you three.” He confided.

“He’s spoken about us?” George couldn’t help but ask.

“Indeed. If my assumption is correct, what I told him was the reason he left this place to find you.”

“-you have to be-” They all startled at the sudden yell, turning concerned eyes to the still closed door.

“Are they still at it?” Mumbo questioned them quietly. His good mood had faded considerably in only a few moments, a frown instead tugging at his face.

“They haven’t stopped since we got here.” Sapnap muttered, sinking down low into his chair. “You’d think Dream destroyed a town or something with how serious they’re taking this.”

Mumbo smoothed a hand over his hair absently as he considered his words. “Well, it is against protocol to bring strangers into the base. And even more so to bring Templars.”

“We’re not Templars anymore though!” Bad protested.

“I know that, and Dream knows that, but they don’t. It’s going to take time for any of them to trust you, I’m afraid.” He gave them a sympathetic look.

“They shouldn’t punish Dream though. It’s not fair.”

“Maybe not, but he did break the rules. Anyway, I know he’ll have Grian’s support on the matter. He’ll make sure nothing too drastic is done. I’m sure of it.”

That was a relief to hear. At least he had a few allies that would have his back with this.

“-Elias Johnson is no...”

Even at hearing the faint name, an unbridled anger slid across his skin. That man deserved to rot in hell for what he did to them all.

He sprung to his feet as if electrocuted, eyes going wide.

“Johnson!”

Mumbo, startled, took a step back and looked at him, his mouth slightly agape with his surprise. “Excuse me?”

“He’s-I’ve gotta go in there and warn them!” George nearly stumbled over his words in his hurry, though his panic was audible enough for anyone to understand anyway. The three Assassins swiftly stood in his way before he could burst through the door in his frantic rush, effectively blocking him.

“Wait, wait, wait, just hang on a second.” Mumbo stopped him in place with a hand to his shoulder. “What are you talking about? You can’t go in there.”

“Johnson. The Templars, they-they’ve got a map to a Piece of Eden.”

They went silent, save for the muffled voices in the room behind them and the quick heaves of his breaths. Mumbo’s face twisted like he had eaten something bad, a vexed look flashing through his eyes. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he even managed to say anything. The unnamed Assassins behind him looked just as shocked.

“What? That’s. _.._ No, that can’t be true.” He had a feeling his denial was because he didn’t _want_ it to be true.

He could understand that. After all, if the Templars got their hands on one of those artifacts… That was game over for everyone.

“It is.” He said adamantly. This time he would not back down. He could not back down. The very fate of the world could be at stake right now. “We were there with him when he got it. Someone has to warn the council, or whoever. They need to know.”

Mumbo shared a conflicted look with the others, as if silently asking them for advice. Neither of them said anything, though their expressions told it all.

He eventually exhaled and waved the Assassins aside. They parted before him wordlessly. “All right, let’s go.” He told him, then shifted his gaze to Sapnap and Bad. “You two stay here. We’ll be back shortly.”

Neither of them protested, and Bad gave him a reassuring nod.

Then he opened the door and together they stepped inside.

The conversation- _argument­_ -silenced as soon as the door swung inwards. It wasn’t a large room, just big enough to fit a ring of tables and chairs around the centre. About a dozen Assassins sat in the chairs, a huge variety of people sitting in the “council”. And every single one of them was staring at George and Mumbo.

He very nearly cracked and fled from the room under the iciness of their gazes, but forced himself to stand strong. They had to know.

Dream, who stood in the centre of it all with Techno at his side, turned to see what the interruption was. A weird mixture of emotions fell across his face at the sight of George standing there, from relief to confusion to distress.

 _‘What are you doing in here?’_ He seemed to ask silently.

“You dare enter a council meeting without permission?” The old man from before sneered haughtily from where he sat, perched on his chair like a vulture waiting for something to die so he could feast. Of course he of all people was one of the council members. “Get out!”

Grian, thank god, was also one of the members apparently, because he too had a seat. Though he was a lot calmer, he did look troubled. Whether from their intrusion or because of the arguing that happened before, he didn’t know.

“Let them speak.” He reprimanded the man with a severe look. Though it was clearly an expression that he wasn’t used to using, it did manage to silence the miserable man.

“Yes, let them explain themselves.” The man at the point of the circle spoke up, voice rich with his authority. He had a weathered face and a stern disposition, but something in his eyes made him know he was trustworthy. “Why are you here?”

“George has some… troubling news about the Templars.” Mumbo sounded uncertain about himself for the first time since he’d met him.

Another Assassin spoke, this one a woman with her hair pulled up tightly into an intricate style. “Surely it could wait-”

“It can’t.” George interrupted her before he lost his nerve entirely, brazenly walking forward until he stood next to Dream.

A quiet murmur arose around him, and he heard the old man mumble a haughty, _“The nerve…”_

It made his skin prickle, but when he felt a hand grasp onto his, his anger was placated. Warm fingers threaded between his, a silent gesture of support. Though Dream still looked confused when he glanced up at him, he was also resolute. He trusted him despite not having a clue as to what was going on, and it made his heart swell and his confidence grow.

If Dream believed in him, he could do anything.

“Quiet!” The man with golden-brunet hair commanded, silencing the chatter around him. Despite there being a council, he was clearly the one in charge. “Explain yourself.” He all but ordered George.

He swallowed, before lifting his chin and pulling himself up to his full height. “The Templars have gotten ahold of a map to a Piece of Eden. Johnson himself has it as we speak.”

This time it was surprised gasps that echoed out around him. Even Dream stiffened next to him, clutching onto his hand just a little bit tighter and giving him a wide-eyed look.

Grian frowned where he sat, leaning forward over the desk. “Are you certain about this?” He asked. Not doubtful, but serious nonetheless.

“Yes.”

“And how do you know this?” An Assassin he had never seen before questioned him.

“I was there with him when he got it.” He admitted. “He got it from an informant in a small town a day or two’s journey from here. It’s encrypted, but when they are able to decipher it…”

“It’ll lead them to an artifact.” Dream finished for him, voice quiet with his distress.

“That is… Troubling.” The leader said, folding his hands together. “If what you say is true-” _It is._ “-then the whole world may be in danger.”

“You cannot seriously trust what he’s saying. He’s a Templar! He should be thrown into a prison with the rest of the rats!” The old man, always a pain, scoffed.

“He’s not our enemy.” Grian argued immediately, a fire in his eyes that reminded him greatly of Dream. “None of them are! We need to trust him and act now before it’s too late-”

The old man turned his nose up. “Your priorities never have been about the Creed.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Enough!” Everyone in the room quieted down again, their arguments coming to a standstill as the leader stood up. “I understand that we don’t know if he is trustworthy or not, but this information could be vital.” He looked towards them once again, though this time his focus was solely on Dream. “Do you truly believe we can trust what he says?”

“I do.” Dream didn’t hesitate for even a second, so sure about his faith in him. “I will vouch for whatever he has to say.”

“I will too.” Techno, surprisingly enough, added his own claim. When he spared a glance to the side, he gifted George a reassuring look.

“Then let’s take a vote. All in favour of taking action against the Templars over this information?”

Grian was the first one to put his hand up, and slowly, one by one more council members did the same. About half of them did, if he was counting correctly. The leader gazed around slowly, as if weighing his options, then lifted his own hand.

A soft murmur started up again, some voices disappointed and outraged, while others relieved.

“Then it’s settled. Tomorrow we will launch an attack on the Templars.”

-

“I can’t really believe this is happening.” Techno murmured as they left the room. _Finally._ “We’re actually going to war against the Templars.”

“We’ve always been at war with them.” Mumbo reminded him on his way out, though not harshly.

“Yeah, but… Now we’re actually going on the assault.”

Bad jumped to his feet at the sight of them, waiting for them to finish before voicing the question that was so clearly on his tongue.

“What happened in there?” He asked, his concern flashing across his face. “Are you in a lot of trouble?”

“I’ll say.” Techno huffed, then shot him an outraged look when he shoved him by his shoulder.

“They haven’t really decided on a punishment yet, but… It doesn’t look like they’re going to kick me out. So far, at least.” Dream told him, allowing a relieved smile to flicker across his face.

There were still more things he had to worry about at the moment though. Namely the fact that they were going to launch an attack on Johnson the very next day.

“What’s this about going to war?” Sapnap stood up as well, taking a moment to stretch his long legs out.

“The Assassins are going to Johnson’s mansion tomorrow to end things with him once and for all.” Dream explained simply and without any beating around the bush. He had nothing to hide, and little patience for sugared words and lies. They deserved the truth after everything they went through.

“What?” Bad’s mouth fell open.

“The map Johnson bought when we were with him, it could destroy humanity if they find whatever it leads to.” George sounded rather nonchalant about it, though a frown tugged between his brows, pinching his expression slightly and betraying his real feelings.

Seeing as they were still holding hands, Dream gave it a comforting squeeze. If any of the others noticed the gesture, they didn’t comment on it. He knew that Sapnap and Bad were so used to seeing them being affectionate with each other, they probably wouldn’t have noticed it anyway. But Mumbo and Techno either didn’t see it, or they just chose not to say anything about it.

“We’re going to stop them before they can decipher it though.” He reassured them. He didn’t add the rest of his thought though. _‘We have to.’_

They looked amongst each other, trading somber looks and worried glances.

“…Well damn.” Sapnap said eventually.

Dream couldn’t help but let out a ridiculously irrational laugh at that, his stress finally coming to a tipping point in the form of laughter. Better that than crying though, right? He’d had enough of that for one lifetime.

He pressed his free hand to his mouth, trying his best to get control over himself before he devolved into one of his wheezing fits. Unfortunately, it only worsened when the others gave him incredulous, surprised looks.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologised over his hiccupping laughter; way too hysterical in the moment. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Techno squinted at him. “I don’t think you are.” He said dubiously. “Did you hit your head and we don’t know about it?”

“Fuck off. I’m allowed to laugh.” His words were softened notably by his giggles, though they were busy dying down.

“Language.” Bad chastised him absently.

Techno blinked. “Did he just say-”

“You’ll get used to it.” George of all people answered his unspoken question.

“Swearing is bad, okay?” Bad frowned.

“‘Bad’, you say?” Sapnap grinned, amused by the simple unintended pun.

“You guys are terrible.”

Mumbo traded an entertained look with Dream, hands tucking into his pockets. “I’d better start preparing for tomorrow then. We’ll need as many advantages we can get, and I know just the tthing. You’d better start getting your things in order too.” He told him as a goodbye, dipping his head.

“Thanks, Mumbo.”

Not just for the advice, but for everything. For letting him vent his frustrations out to him despite them not being all that close. For pushing him to act when he had been too afraid to. For sticking up for George, who was a complete stranger to him.

Mumbo, seeing the true extent of his gratitude, smiled.

“Any time, Dream. You know where to find me.” With that he was gone, leaving them to themselves.

“He’s right, we should get ready.” Techno agreed, folding his arms over his chest.

“We?” Sapnap perked up visibly at that. “Does that mean we get to come with too?”

“If you want to. I vouched for you three. The council decided that you can stay here for now and can join us in the attack. But if anything happens, or you betray us…” He trailed off.

“Dream will be the one on the chopping block.” Techno finished for him, giving a stern look to the ex-Templars in turns, as if admonishing children. It was a bit of an extreme thing to say, but it definitely got the point across. And by the thoroughly concerned looks on their faces, it had worked.

It was actually a pretty funny sight to see, and he was seriously tempted to laugh again. He didn’t though, knowing they wouldn’t appreciate it.

“You don’t have to worry about that. We won’t.” Bad reassured him confidently, pushing his worry to the side. “We stick together.”

His heart swelled in his chest, something akin to pride sparking from beneath his ribcage.

Even Sapnap, who was much quieter than usual, was resolute with his agreement. And he didn’t have to look at George to know that he felt the same.

“Then I think we should probably visit the armoury and see what weapons you guys can use for now.” The Assassin said. They had left the majority of their belongings back at his cottage, knowing that the Assassins would be even more on edge if they were armed when they arrived.

“That sounds good, but I think I should take George to the infirmary first.” Techno added, clapping a hand on said brunet’s shoulder. He jolted, physically startled by the gesture, and looked at him.

Dream’s eyes narrowed, gaze flicking between the two of them. George looked just as lost as he felt, though he didn’t say anything about it. “What for?”

“I think I saw a cut you haven’t dressed yet.” Without waiting for permission, he started dragging George along, their hands parting from each other for the first time.

“Techno-” He warned.

The pink haired Assassin didn’t let his tone deter him, tugging his friend along without stopping for even a moment. “We’ll be back soon, don’t worry!”

George managed to flash him one last wide-eyed look over his shoulder, before they were out of sight again.

“So… Weapons?” Bad suggested tentatively, searching his face for a reaction.

He sighed heavily, brushing his fingers through his hair. He needed a haircut. “Weapons.” He agreed.

The best thing he could do right now was drop it. Even if he was both curious and apprehensive about Techno’s strange behaviour. He wasn’t exactly new to seeing him acting weirdly, but this was something new entirely.

_‘Drop it, Dream. Just drop it.’_

He led his friends through the compound, occasionally passing a few other Assassins. None of them looked at him twice though, which he was immensely grateful for. He had hated being stuck in a claustrophobic room, stared down by almost a dozen Master Assassins, all of them silently judging him and deciding his fate.

It was stressful, to say the least.

If not for Techno and Grian’s support in that meeting, he didn’t know how he would have managed it.

“Here we are.” He pushed open a door, revealing a large room that was filled to the brim with weapons of every kind. From swords and crossbows, to spears and maces. Throwing knives, regular knives, bombs, clubs, scythes. Rows upon rows of weapons, a room created as if in a madman’s mind. Of course these things weren’t just given freely to anyone, but every Assassin knew they could use this room when in need. An emergency supply room.

“Holy…” Sapnap darted forward, face lighting up. Not unlike a child on his birthday.

“We can just… take whatever?” Bad asked, a good deal more reluctant than their friend, though he too was visibly in awe.

“Within reason, of course. We only take what we need when we need it. This place is mostly for emergencies, but I think this counts as an emergency. So take what you think you’ll need for a fight.” He advised them, folding his arms over his chest. He himself had everything he needed, he would just need to stock up on his own personal supply of bombs and knives before they left.

“I see you’ve had the same idea I did.” A new voice, smooth and amused, trickled through the air. “Great minds think alike?”

Dream turned to face the owner, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“I guess so. Hey, Wilbur.” He greeted him.

The Assassin’s eyes crinkled with his smile as he crossed through the open door. “Hi, Dream.” He greeted him back in return, a pep in his walk and a fond gleam in his eyes.

“So you already know about tomorrow?”

“Everyone does. News travels fast around here. It’s kind of uncanny.” He found himself agreeing with that silently. “Anyway, it’s good to see you again. We were all worried about you.” Despite his relaxed expression, Dream could hear the genuine concern that lined his otherwise self-assured voice.

“That’s nice of you to say, but I somehow doubt that.” The blond couldn’t keep his disbelief to himself.

“Oh? Why?” He looked at him curiously, as if sincerely confused about his denial.

He arched a brow, resting his hands on his hips. “Because I’m _me_. Do I need another reason?” His simple response made Wilbur huff out a quiet laugh, an airy, almost incredulous sound.

“You need to give yourself more credit. I for one, was actually worried about you.” He smiled, flashing perfect teeth. “And besides, you still owe me that dinner. Or have you forgotten?”

“Oh of course,” Dream drawled playfully, head cocking to the side. “ _That’s_ why you were concerned about me.”

“Partially.” The Assassin admitted readily. They both broke eye contact at the sound of someone clearing their throat. Wilbur’s dark eyes flickered past him, finally taking in the two unfamiliar faces. He didn’t appear perturbed though, and continued on smoothly. “My apologies. I’m Wi-”

“Wilbur. We heard.” Sapnap interrupted shortly. He held an axe in his hands, a big thing that made Dream wonder how he was carrying such a thing so effortlessly. The dark look that shadowed his face just made him look all the more intimidating.

Even Wilbur looked a bit taken aback, though he regained his composure again swiftly. “Right. My mistake.”

“That’s Sapnap,” Dream introduced him, a frown making its way across his face. “And he’s BadBoyHalo.”

“It’s nice to meet you two.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Dream stared at the two of them, visibly appalled at the way they were acting. Even Bad, as friendly as he usually was, was looking at Wilbur with an unimpressed look on his face.

He glanced at Wilbur, forcing an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, too confused to make it as genuine as he could.

Bad stepped forward, a sweet smile on his face. “Dream, why don’t you go and check up on George and Techno?” He suggested.

“Wh-I’m sure they’re fine, Bad-”

“But what if they’re not? I _definitely_ think you should go see them.” He gave him a knowing look, as if trying to tell him something with his eyes.

It was kinda creeping him out.

“Bad-”

“Do it.”

“I… Okay…?” He glanced between them reluctantly. “Are you sure-”

“We’ll be fine. Go on.” Bad shooed him out before he could protest more, a hard look in his eyes that was seriously unfamiliar to him.

Then the door was being closed behind him and he was alone.

What the hell was going on with them?

He cast a wary look over his shoulder, eyeing the door behind him distrustfully. When he saw-and heard-nothing, he hesitantly started walking. The two of them were acting really strangely, and he had no idea why. Since Wilbur had entered the room, in fact. Maybe they were offended that he didn’t introduce them immediately?

He shook his head, dislodging the thought.

Whatever. Now that he was out, he might as well go check up on Techno and George. The walk to the infirmary wasn’t nearly as long as the one to the armoury had been, and he reached the medical area in only a few minutes.

His footsteps faltered at the mention of his name though, slowly coming to a standstill just outside the open door. Trusting his gut, he remained out of sight, choosing to wait for a moment to hear more.

George spoke first, spluttering over his words. “Look, you don’t have to threaten me-”

“I will threaten you.” Techno’s voice, cold and serious, cut him off. For a moment his stomach churned, worry flashing through him like a tidal wave. Why was Techno threatening George? “He’s my friend. He’s my brother. I know he cares about you, but if you were to do _anything_ to him, I swear to god you will regret ever coming here.”

Oh… Wait, was he having one of those ‘big brother’ talks?

 _With George_?

Part of him wanted to leave at that, not wanting to eavesdrop further on their conversation. He knew it wasn’t right. But he remained in place nonetheless, feet glued to the floor, and he listened.

“I know that-”

“Good.”

“-but you don’t have to worry! I’ve told you already: I’m not going to hurt him. I’m _never_ going to hurt him.”

“You’ve already hurt him.”

“It was an accident!”

They both went quiet, save for the heavy breathing caused from with their own individual emotions. He could almost feel the tension from outside the room, suffocating him with its silence. But however bad it was out there, he knew it must’ve been worse inside the room itself.

“I care about him, Techno.” George spoke quietly, his voice soft with emotions that he didn’t often show to people who weren’t his friends. “I care about Dream more than _anything_ in this world. I would never hurt him.”

“Are you in love with him?”

His heart jumped at the abrupt question, coming to a slow, painful stutter in his chest. He waited; bated breath caught in his throat and a hopeful feeling blossoming like a flower in his stomach.

George didn’t speak for the longest of times, seconds slipping into what felt like minutes, and every tick of a non-existent clock made his hopes fall further and further away.

He hated that he felt disappointed by the lack of response, and he clutched onto his necklace for comfort.

Then he was exhaling, voice barely above a whisper. “You know I am.”

Oh.

“You know that I’m so goddam in love with him that I would lay my life down for him in an instant. If anything were to happen to him, I would never be able to forgive myself. I know I could never live a life without him in it, and I don’t care if he loves me back or not. I’ll never stop loving him no matter what.” He rushed through his words, blindly, _genuinely_ rambling to the Assassin, his emotions building up with every word that poured from his lips like poetry on paper. “And if I ever do hurt him, I’d _want_ you to make me pay. Because he deserves so much more than that. He deserves so much more than me.” He sounded out of breath, like talking about it physically made him breathless.

Dream could understand that, his own breath leaving his lung. His head spun dizzyingly, and his legs nearly buckled from beneath him, almost unable to take the weight of the confession.

“Is that what you wanted?”

Techno didn’t answer for a while, considering his earnest words. When he did respond, it was barely audible. A quiet confirmation passed between a whisper.

“Yeah.”

“…You’re not going to tell him, are you?” George was audibly anxious, his fire died down.

“No.”

The conversation didn’t resume after that.

Dream had to lean back against the wall for support, eyes glazed. His blood rushed through his ears, pulse thrumming violently like a drum that he almost thought all could hear. He pressed a shaking hand to his chest, heat rising to his cheeks.

George… loved him.

George was in love with him.

He swallowed, eyes hardening.

All the more reason they had to take the Templars down, once and for all.

He wouldn’t let _anything_ happen to George. Not while he was still around. He would kill every last one of them if it meant he was safe.

With a new resolve hanging like armour over him, he turned down the hallway and left back the way he came.

 _No one_ would hurt George.

-

Dream gazed out from his place between the familiar trees, hood pulled low over his head to hide his expression. He didn’t want those around him to see the twist of pain that flashed across his face at the sight that rose up before him.

He knew the plan. They all knew the plan. He knew what he had to do and where he had to go.

He just hadn’t taken into account how being back here in the mansion grounds would make him feel.

The last time he had been in these very woods, he had been ready to give up and die. If not for Techno-who had trailed him back here after their visit to his house-he would have been killed.

He glanced to his sides, noticing the way that George stood close to him, as if nervous of being too far away. Like once again he would disappear into these woods and never appear again. He could understand that. Just being here again after everything that happened made his skin crawl.

Bad and Sapnap were with another group of Assassins, the one that Techno was a part of. He would have felt much worse about having to be parted from them, if not for his promise to look after them.

His own group leader, a man named Iskall, stood before them all, watching dutifully for the signal. He had never worked with him before, but he knew that he was a good Assassin. He felt confident being under his command. As did the few other Assassins that made up the rest of his group. He didn’t know most of them, but one or two faces did stick out to him.

Eret, a soft spoken yet deep-voiced guy that he had befriended over his time with the Assassins, caught his eyes and gave him a smile. He flashed him a quick grin in return, if only to reassure himself, before shifting his gaze further along. Skeppy stood near the back, the generally rambunctious boy unusually quiet and serious in light of the events. He didn’t know him nearly as well, but they had spoken a few times over the months. The last familiar face was a girl named Sylvee. He knew her far less than the rest of them though.

There were so many Assassins he did and didn’t know, and all of them had gathered here to put a stop to the Templars. He had never had even the faintest idea of just how big the Creed was exactly, how many Assassins were out there, until they were all coming together for the greater good. From across the land, more and more had come through to join them in the short time period they had to prepare.

It had blown his mind.

His attention flickered back to Iskall when he lifted a hand up. They all stilled, waiting for his command. Dream’s eyes narrowed when a patrol of three Templars rounded the side of the main building, tracking their movement in silence.

Right on time.

The group leader gestured and, as one, three of the Assassins moved in. Like shadows, they parted from the safety of the tree line, swiftly coming up behind the completely oblivious Templars and executing them. Not even a sound came from them as all three bodies were guided to the ground; dead before they could even say a word.

With their first threat out of the way, they continued on.

His group was the first supposed to breach the mansion itself, while others took out as many of the guards and Templars that could be alerted by them, and others were waiting in case things went south.

While they weren’t opposed to casualties, the Assassins didn’t want to slaughter every last one of them. They didn’t _have_ to. They were there for the map and Johnson. Nothing more, nothing less.

It helped that they had four ex-Templars to give them advice on the layout of the area and the patrol patterns they tended to stick to. As long as nothing major had changed since George, Bad and Sapnap had left, things would go smoothly.

Iskall motioned for him and Dream stepped forward, wordlessly taking the lead from here. He and George were the best people to be able to lead them right where they needed to go, and they didn’t exactly trust George enough to let him go first.

Dream opened the door, peering inside. He wasn’t surprised that it was unlocked, but he was surprised to see that there was not a single person in sight. While the back entrance wasn’t exactly used often-more for the staff members than the Templars themselves-he hadn’t expected it to be so barren.

Following his internal map, he led the small group through the twists of hallways and rooms, relying more on muscle memory than anything else. If their assumptions were right, the code would be kept in Johnson’s office. Obviously there was a chance that they had transported it elsewhere, but George had told them that Johnson had previously been planning on returning to the mansion immediately afterwards. And hopefully they were acting soon enough that they didn’t have the time to move it elsewhere.

Green eyes moved around; ears pricked for any sort of sound that might alert him of the presence of someone else.

They moved past one of the many rooms that the full-fledged Templars used as sleeping quarters. The faint sounds of shifting passed through closed doors, but, thankfully, nothing else came from it. Everyone was fast asleep.

No one was around.

A cry rang out in the distance, followed by a shout of, _“Assassins!”_ and the ringing of a bell that clashed through the silence.

Of course he spoke too soon.

A roar echoed out moments later, followed by the all too familiar sounds of fighting and swords clashing. Well, it seems their cover was blown. By whom or what, he wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, it just made their mission a lot harder for them.

Dream shared a look with Iskall, silently asking what they were to do now. The older man opened his mouth to answer him, when a door to his left burst open.

Startled Assassins and stunned, half-asleep Templars stared at each other for a while. Neither expecting to come face to face with each other.

Then the Templars charged, immediately roused from their previously sluggish states. None of them wore armour, but every single one was armed, and the Assassins quickly found themselves under attack. They were outnumbered moments later when even more Templars came trickling out from the other rooms, blindly striking against the invaders.

The hallway was narrow and difficult to fight in to the best of their abilities, but that also gave the Templars that very same disadvantage. Dream didn’t even have time to draw his sword before he was being surrounded. Not that he would have been able to wield it very well in such close quarters anyways.

Dream automatically sought George out in the chaos, violently shoving a Templar back with a kick to the chest to get more space. The man fell back against his peers, sending them knocking back in a domino effect. He ducked beneath the violent swing of a mace, watching as the brutal weapon crashed into the wall next to him, crashing right through the foundations, and sending bits of plaster flying. He flicked his wrist, impaling his attacker through his heart with his wrist blade, and twisted out of reach of yet another Templar that came barrelling towards him.

He felt someone press against his back and he snapped his head to the side to look over his shoulder, ready to cut whoever it was down. If it were an enemy.

It was only George.

He stood back to back with him, defending him from behind with a zealous passion. He turned his attention back to his own battle, knowing that he could trust George to watch his back for him, while he did the same for him.

He was almost too caught up in fighting to notice a familiar figure standing further down the hallway. Far from the battle raging between the thin walls. Safe.

Their eyes met and, for a moment, Dream wasn’t aware of a single other thing around him.

Johnson smirked and shook his hand in the air, bringing his attention to the scroll of paper he held. Mocking him. _Challenging him._

Then he turned and walked away, moving slowly and confidently. Daring him to follow.

Dream bared his teeth, striking down the Templars before him without giving them even a chance to defend themselves. He made a break for it while he had the time, mind focused on one thing and one thing only.

“Dream!” A hand snagged onto his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. He pulled back as he glanced at George, not wanting to let Johnson escape. By the look in his eyes, he knew he had seen him too. “Don’t go after him. You can’t do it alone.” He begged, his worry flickering through his eyes.

He hesitated, resolve weakening. But when he heard the tell-tale drawl of Johnson calling his name over the noise of the battle around them, summoning him like he was a dog, he snapped.

He ripped free of George’s hold, unable to hold himself back, and charged after Johnson’s trail.

He always had been too impulsive.

He sprinted through the maze of too familiar walls and places he’d rather never see again, chasing after him. Every time he spotted him, he was already disappearing around the next corner. Like a wild goose chase, he led him where _he_ wanted him to go.

He skidded to a stop, panting and breathing heavily, in front of Johnson’s office.

Of course.

Of course he would take him here.

It was only fitting that it all ended here.

He stepped through the door, drawing his sword smoothly. Johnson stood before his desk, that infuriatingly smug smile on his face, his eyes gleaming with the iciness of a blade.

“It’s about time you arrived.” The Templar spoke smoothly, like he wasn’t facing an Assassin thirsty for his blood. “I always knew you would come back.”

“Give me the map.” He snapped, not bothering to dignify his statement with a response to it.

Johnson tsked, as if disappointed with him. “Always so aggressive.” Hypocritical piece of- “Well then, what are you waiting for?”

He tucked the paper into one of the pockets in his jacket. His hands, now free, reached out to take a hold of his weapon, which lay leaning heavily against the side of his desk. A huge blade that reminded him a lot of the one Sapnap had taken a liking to all those months ago.

The Master Templar stepped forward and he automatically raised his own weapon, immediately on the defence.

He’s back where it all started.

Standing in front of Johnson’s desk, still and silent. Only this time he wasn’t an obedient dog, blindly following and accepting his will.

Now he was a wolf.

And he wanted blood.

His sword was perfect in his hand, an extension of his arm instead of a hindrance. _He_ was the weapon.

Johnson’s broadsword scraped the ground as he walked, a huge thing so very fitting for the imposing man himself. Another thing that would aid in his downfall, for sure. This room wasn’t made to be big enough for a weapon like that.

“What are you waiting for, _Clay_?” He said his name like it was a curse. As if just breathing his name dripped poison from his tongue. He saw him as a nightmare, not a person. His words spiked with his venom, but his eyes shone with his wariness.

Good.

He _was_ a curse.

One that would be the end of Johnson. Once and for all.

“Come and get it.”

Dream flew at him with a wordless cry, bringing his sword down from above his head with all the force of a charging wolf. He was no match for Johnson in terms of sheer strength and size alone, but even that blow managed to rock him on his feet.

He found himself thrown back when he shoved against him a moment later, the shriek of their blades crackling through the air. He caught his footing and leapt out of reach of a savage two-handed swing of the monstrous sword, the tip swiping past his chest. Too close for comfort.

He darted back in again, swinging at his exposed side with his weapon, only for Johnson to twist his sword at the last second, blocking it, then cracked his elbow into his face. Dream was sent reeling back at the blow, tears springing to his eyes, and he just barely managed to raise his sword in time to deflect the next mighty hit, vision blurred badly. He danced out of his range, arms jarring painfully and nose aching like all hell. He blinked rapidly, forcing his tears to disperse.

Something dripped down his lower lip and he automatically swiped the back of his hand across it, smearing red across his face.

The first blood of the fight.

Dream struck first again, feigning an attack to the left, then spun around his guard and lunged for him. He barely dodged a backhanded blow that would have stunned him and sliced a neat line on his leg in return.

Thick red droplets fell through the air and the beast inside him, invigorated with bloodlust by the sight, forced him to drive further forward despite the risk.

He ducked beneath the next swing, cutting an arc upwards with his blade that caught Johnson on the stomach. The man roared like the wounded beast he was.

Only incensed by his pain, he swung again, this one crashing against his much smaller sword and throwing him off balance.

With a kick that he was too off guard to block, he was sent collapsing backwards, the breath rushing out of his lungs. He hit the floor and had only a moment to register the pain on his back, before he immediately started rolling to the side, just barely catching a glimpse of the flashing broadsword as it crashed into the ground.

Right in the spot he had just been.

He scrambled to his feet, fleeing from another deadly strike. He didn’t even have time to catch his breath. He was just glad he’d managed to keep his sword in his hand.

He vaulted over the desk in his desperate attempt to avoid his fury, scattering papers and objects as he did, with the Templar right on his tail.

Johnson nearly cleaved the damn thing in two with his next blow, the wood cracking and splintering into a hundred pieces. He didn’t want to think about how _he_ would look if it were his body the sword had struck instead.

His body broken and in ruins instead of the desk. A mangled corpse, with even more blood and gore decorating the already blood-stained floors.

He would be just another body to add to the Templars ever growing list of victims.

He threw himself into a strike that made Johnson have to stagger back to miss, just barely avoiding getting his face sliced cleanly in two. His hands were forced to fall from his weapon before he even had the chance to pull it free from the mess of wood that his desk once was.

He was unarmed.

A vicious, victorious inferno howled to life within him, setting his body ablaze with the flames of its wrath. Its inhuman heat burned through him, his nerve endings on fire and his eyes alight.

An unrelenting blaze of fury pressed forward, fighting like the whirlwind of sparks and flames he was.

Johnson struggled to fend him off, just barely managing to dodge his ferocious attacks and avoid his burning blade. But even with all of his desperate moves to keep himself alive, he was slowly, steadily being backed into a corner.

“Do you really think you can win?” Johnson sneered as he leapt out of the way of another blow. Despite being without a weapon and without any visible way out, he always had to have the last word. He always had to use that serpent tongue of his to his advantage. “You’re just the same, scared boy that you always were! You’re pathetic!”

He tasted blood on his tongue. The acrid, coppery thing coated his teeth and his lips, and though he knew it was his own, it spurred him on to taste more. In a blind fury, he threw himself at the Templar.

Johnson twisted to the side at the last second. Even in his infuriated haze, he could see the glint of something silver flashing through the air next to him.

The next thing he knew was the sharp lash of agony lancing through his arm and a pained cry that he didn’t recall voicing ringing out.

His hand went limp, sword slipping from his unresponsive fingers. His blade clattered to the ground, unable to keep ahold of it, and it wasn’t hard to see why.

The jagged blade of a knife jutted out through the flesh of his upper arm, the tip coated in thick red blood. _His_ blood.

Johnson yanked the knife out again mercilessly and he found himself crying out once more.

He swiped at his face, sending a spray of visceral droplets through the air. He barely managed to stumble backwards in time, panic clawing up within him for the first time.

As if sensing his fear, Johnson gave chase, not letting up for even a moment.

The tables turned.

Without a weapon and with one arm sending electrifying pain through him every time he moved, he was forced to scramble around and evade as best he could. His weapon lay abandoned behind Johnson, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get it back in time, before he was cut down where he stood. Not to mention he would have to try and use his left hand to fight instead.

No, he just had to rely on his quick reaction time to keep him out from beneath the blade.

Then things went sideways.

Johnson either got lucky or he knew exactly where to go for, and for once he just wasn’t quick enough for once.

 _One_ kick that he couldn’t dodge connected with his bad leg and sent him crumpling, knee collapsing beneath him. Before he could get himself up again, another kick knocked him down fully to the floor.

Despite his chest aching with the feeling of being winded and his limbs screaming their pain, he forced himself to scramble to his hands and knees, heart hammering away in his chest with his fear-filled adrenaline.

He had to get up he had to get up he had to get up.

A foot pressed down firmly on the small of his back, shoving him right back down again and forcing the air from his mouth. More pressure was added when he weakly tried to get up again. Getting his mangled arm to move was difficult enough as it is, but with his weight on his back, shoe shoving harshly on his still healing wound, it was impossible for him to do anything other than gasp wetly, droplets of blood splattering from his mouth.

“You’re pathetic.” He could barely hear his acidic voice over the pounding of his blood in his ears, but hear him he did. “You’ve always been weak. I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” Johnson knelt down and yanked his good arm behind his back, pressing one knee harshly into it to keep him from moving.

His eyes caught onto the handle of his blade. It wasn’t too far from him, if he could just get his arm to work and reach out-

His head was tugged back painfully by his hair, a pained sound ripping from his bloodied lips. Cold, grey eyes met his, burning with his silent fury. He tried to pull away from him defiantly, doing as much as he could to dislodge him from his place.

He felt the cold blade of the knife press against his throat and went still.

Though he was desperate to fight back, even he wasn’t dumb enough to struggle while he had a blade to his throat. One wrong move and it would all be over.

A smug, disgusting smile twisted at his face. He thought he had won and was already preening in the glow of his victory. A cat who caught the canary. Waiting to sink its already bloodied fangs into its tiny, unforgiving body. _His_ body.

He hummed and pulled his head back further, placing more of his weight on top of him when he struggled for a moment. He dragged the blade along his skin, firm enough that he could feel the sharp sting across his neck, but not enough to make him bleed. He understood the message he wanted to get across and stopped.

“Maybe when I’m done with you…” He mused, bringing the knife away as he spoke, “I’ll get to kill George too.”

No.

“I just wish you could be there to see the look on his face when I finally kill him. I’ll make sure he begs for it.”

_No._

“Or maybe I should keep you alive so that I can make you see it. Then you’ll get to see him _beg_ me to end his miserable little life.”

“ _Don’t you fucking touch him_!” He snarled savagely, throwing himself up against him as much as he could. He couldn’t do much, but he tried his best, thrashing and kicking out as much as he could. To his delight, the Templar was caught off guard and the pressure on his arm relaxed ever so slightly.

Then the grip on his hair was tightening and more of his weight was crushing him down. His fruitless struggle came to a violent halt when Johnson slammed his head down onto the floor, a sickening _crack_ echoing around the room.

Blinding pain burst across his face, a choked sound falling from his lips.

He lay there, stunned and completely limp in his hands. A fresh wave of blood trickled from his nose, his vision fading in and out of focus. Red was starting to pool around his face on the ground, his breath wheezing noisily.

God, he hoped it wasn’t broken.

He was pulled back into reality by another harsh wrench on his hair, the blade coming in to press against his throat once again when his head was turned up. This time he was too out of it to even think about resisting.

“That’s better.” Johnson cooed. He sounded almost amused by his outburst, not perturbed in the slightest. Just entertained. Like he was watching an animal struggling beneath his fingers, not a person. “It’s nice when you don’t fight back.”

Despite the world spinning nauseatingly around him and his whole body aching, Dream managed to spit out a mouthful of blood onto the floor, baring his red-stained teeth. “Fuck you.” He slurred, head lolling loosely in his painful grasp.

Johnson’s eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to speak, only for an arrow to come slamming into his shoulder.

The man fell back with a short shout, hands falling to instead clutch at the wound. Dream’s face thumped back down into the ground again, unable to keep his own head up, while Johnson’s eyes darted furiously to the person responsible, forgetting about him completely. 

“ _You_.” The Templar snarled.

He managed to lift his head up enough to be able to make out George standing before them in the doorway, bow in hand and a livid look on his face. For a moment he was at war with himself. Immensely relieved to see him, yet at the same time, fearing for his life.

His mouth tried to form his name, but he couldn’t

“I guess this is a blessing.” Johnson ripped the arrow out of his shoulder, jaw clenching hard enough to break teeth. He took his weight off of the Assassin for barely a moment, distracted by his pain. The moment was all he needed. “I guess I _will_ get to kill you first after all.”

Dream snapped to his senses, a wave of red washing over his vision.

He didn’t even know he was moving until he was twisting himself around, an enraged scream tearing from his throat as he lunged up with his good arm.

There was no warning for him other than the flex of his wrist and a gleam of silver.

Johnson gaped at him, mouth moving like a fish out of water.

A hand reached up his neck wordlessly, just as blood began to spurt from the wound. Thick rivers came flooding down, washing over his skin and soaking through his shirt within seconds.

“Y… ah…” He gargled incoherently, the huge slit across his neck weeping red.

Fear, cold and unfamiliar, crept through his eyes. He lifted his other hand, as if going to reach out to the Assassin. His lips formed words that his throat was unable to voice, face ghostly pale.

Then he fell, collapsing over onto his side.

He went still.

Dream could only stare, unblinking and transfixed, as blood started pooling around him. His arm lay limp next to him, hidden blade dripping with the same red liquid. His physical pain fled his mind, too enraptured to notice his own blood steadily forming around him.

He was dead.

Johnson was dead.

He felt arms around him, warm and reassuring, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He barely even registered George’s gentle, soothing hug or the face pressing into the top of his head.

“It’s over.” He breathed, only now noticing the cold tears that trickled down his cheeks.

“It’s over.” George agreed quietly, clutching him to his chest. As if terrified he too would keel over at any moment. “You did it.” He murmured, placing a soft kiss on his hair. “You did it.”


	7. Chapter VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I'm so very sorry this chapter took so long to come out. Life's been a tad overwhelming lately, but hopefully I'll be able to post more frequently now.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the support and great feedback I've received! It's been so overwhelming and incredible, I truly am so grateful. I'm so glad I got to share this with all you lovely people.
> 
> I will be writing more Dreamteam stories in the future, so if you enjoyed this, then be sure to keep your eyes peeled for that!
> 
> Thank you again so much <3 I love you all.

“How have you been doing?”

A week or two ago, Dream might have responded to that question a lot differently. He might have been cynical and sarcastic, or maybe even just refused to answer it entirely.

Because he hadn’t been okay.

At the end of the day, the Assassins won. Johnson was killed. The map was recovered, and the remaining Templars scattered to the wind.

So why had Dream felt so terrible?

Physical wounds were one thing. That kind of hurt he could handle. He’d gotten _used_ to handling it over the years. You couldn’t be so impulsive and reckless in life without having to learn how to deal with pain. His numerous scars and long-gone injuries could attest to that.

No, the few wounds he had gotten during his fight weren’t the issue.

It was the pain that lingered in his mind, his thoughts hanging over him like a dark cloud and his doubts slowly filling him, drowning him from the inside with its ice-cold dread.

He didn’t understand. He killed Johnson. He _won_.

Then why did Johnson still haunt him? He would wake up from nightmares with the feeling of a knife on his neck or a crossbow bolt through his chest. He would hear a laugh in the distance and tense up, irrationally thinking that it was his.

The only reason he didn’t go crazy from his paranoia was George. He was a constant in his otherwise confusing life. Understanding and supportive and _always_ there for him.

He knew it would take time to get over what happened completely, but he also knew that he would. He’d hit a bump in the road before, and this one was not going to be the one to throw him from his saddle.

Time would help him stop fearing for his life from someone that was already dead.

For now he just had to focus on letting his actual wounds heal. His nose, thank god, hadn’t been broken, though the stab wound in his arm had left him confined to a sling for way too long. He’d protested heavily, but after Grian threatened to have him restricted to a bed until he recovered, he gave in. It might have only been marginally better to have one usable arm than being bed-ridden for weeks on end, but it was still better.

But now that time had passed, and he had recovered a good deal-both mentally and physically-he could easily answer his uncle’s well-meaning question with a smile.

“I’m good, actually.” He admitted, quietly observing the way that Grian’s face softened with his barely veiled relief. It was no secret that he had worried the people around him for a while there.

“That’s excellent to hear, Dream.” He smiled, the anxious lines of his expression fading away. He hummed his agreement, relaxing back further into the chair. “And how are your friends?”

“They’re also good. They’re coping pretty well with the whole Assassin-Templar thing. Especially now that they don’t have to worry about looking over their shoulders constantly.” He said, absentmindedly running his finger across the bridge of his nose and over the old wound. A new scar marred his face, just barely healed, but already added to his collection. He used to hate scars. He was clumsy and reckless; he’d gotten an abundance of them over the years. But more and more he found himself less disgusted by them, and more proud of them. Because every scar told a tale, exclaiming to the world that _he had survived._

Grian nodded, adjusting his glasses without thinking. “I haven’t gotten the chance to speak with any of them yet, but I’m sure they’re relieved that all of this is over for now.”

“For now?” He echoed, brows furrowing.

“You know that this is not over entirely yet.” His uncle’s smile fell, and he flicked his eyes to the window, staring out into the distance thoughtfully. “We might have defeated Johnson and relieved our lands of the Templar hold, but the Templars are more than just him and his followers. Across the seas and further north there are more of them. We might have destroyed them here, but eventually they’ll rebuild themselves, whether we like it or not.” He shifted his gaze back onto the younger Assassin and, seeing his disheartened look, he continued, “For now though, we can live without worry. We have to prepare and be vigilant, but there’s no point in worrying about things that might or might not happen.” He reassured him.

Dream wasn’t quite convinced by it, but he sighed and agreed anyway. “Yeah… Okay.” Despite his attempt at comforting him, he didn’t quite feel comforted. He knew that there were more Templars out there. That Johnson might have been a powerful figure in the Templar Order, but even he wasn’t even close to being the _real_ person in charge.

A part of him had hoped he would never have to deal with any of them again, though he knew that was just a naïve thought to have.

And as if sensing his thoughts, Grian stood up. The Assassin walked across the room and to the full-to-the-brim bookshelf that decorated the homey office.

“But it’s not like you have to worry about any of that yet. You’re still suspended from duties for another month.” He reminded him gently.

That was true enough. His punishment for leaving and then housing and bringing back Templars to the base was a lot lighter than he had thought it would be. About a month and a half suspended from active duty, though he probably would have been forced to spend that time recovering even if he hadn’t been.

What a relief it had been to know that he wasn’t kicked out for his actions though.

“Anyway,” He said, picking up a small box that lay nestled between the rows and rows of well-used and worn books. “There actually is another reason I wanted to talk to you. I meant to catch you sooner, but then all of… _this_ went down.” He watched curiously as he set the box down on the desk. He did remember Techno telling him that Grian had wanted to see him about something, but then he had left and chaos had followed, and he’d found himself completely forgetting about that fact until now. “Now, it’s not _exactly_ like your old one, but I hope it will do.”

He stepped back and, when he didn’t move, he gestured to it. Silently urging him to open it.

Gingerly, Dream pulled up the clasp and swung the lid open.

A smiling black and white face stared back up at him. With a shaky hand he reached out, gently tracing the pads of his fingers across the smooth, cold mask. It was so familiar, yet subtly different. Thin green lines marked the otherwise plain porcelain, like bolts of lightning stretching across the side. The seemingly drawn on smile was more of a proud one than the dead-eyed one that he was used to, faintly different but the same all at once.

“When you told me about your old mask breaking, I went to a friend to see what he could do. I thought maybe it would be nice to personalise it a bit more, but if you don’t like it, I can always ask-”

Dream lunged forward, interrupting him mid-sentence.

“It’s amazing! Thank you.” He mumbled against the fabric of his shirt, hugging him as much as he could with one arm.

Grian immediately returned the hug, though admittedly a lot more gentle about it. Definitely more aware of his injuries than the younger male was. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it.” He pulled away, a grin stretching across his face. Bright and elated. His uncle chuckled at his enthusiasm, patting him on the head like he was a kid. He ducked his head, uttering a quiet, _“Hey!”_ In protest.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Grian huffed, rounding the desk to take his seat again. “Anyway, I’m sure you have better things to do than to just sit around here with me all day.” He waved away his objections before he even had the chance to voice a single word of it. “Go to your friends.”

Seeing the resolute look on his face, Dream held up his hands in surrender as much as he could. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me twice.” With a smile, he traded goodbyes with him and left the room. Though not before snagging his new mask and tying it to his belt.

George, Sapnap and Bad should still be in the mess hall, if he was correct. Or if they hadn’t decided to leave and go somewhere else by now instead. He hoped that was the case, otherwise he’d have to go searching the whole base for them, praying that they weren’t causing too much chaos.

Luckily for him, they weren’t doing anything like that. They sat where he had left them, chatting over the remains of what was clearly their food.

Before he moved through the doorway, someone else caught his attention. A person he hadn’t seemed to be able to talk to for days on end. Since the last time they had bumped into each other, actually. Someone always seemed to drag him away before he could get a word in.

Wilbur smiled at him in greeting, quirking a brow. “Long time no see, huh?”

“It has been a while.” Dreama agreed with a soft laugh, leaning against the doorway. “I feel like something always comes up when we see each other.”

“Yeah. You keep getting pulled away before we can talk.” He shook his head, folding his arms across his chest. He almost expected him to be annoyed, but he wasn’t. He was as nonchalant as always. “Your friends just _really_ don’t like me, I guess.”

Dream tilted his head to the side, his confusion trickling through his expression and his good mood dwindling. What? They didn’t like him?

Did they tell him that? And if so, _why_?

“I’m sure that’s not true.” He didn’t really know what else to say besides that, heavily taken aback by the matter-of-fact accusation.

“No, no, it is. It’s all right though.” The other Assassin didn’t look offended or angry though. Just amused.

“Have they… Have they said anything to you about it?” He asked, admittedly a bit hesitant.

“Not exactly, but it doesn’t take a genius to see the animosity. Surely you’ve noticed?”

Dream, sheepish, shook his head. “I haven’t actually.” He admitted guiltily, rubbing the back of his neck with his good arm.

Wilbur stared at him for a moment, looking a bit disbelieving.

Then he laughed, head tipping back with the melodious, amused sound. “Of course you haven’t.” Seeing the slightly affronted look that flashed across his face, he quickly backtracked and amended himself, though he couldn’t keep the fond grin from his face. “No, no. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good thing. It’s cute that you’re so oblivious.”

Wha-

_Cute?_

“I’m not oblivious.” He denied, more flustered than he wanted to admit. And he definitely wasn’t _cute._

“Are you sure about that?”

He wanted to protest, to argue that he absolutely was _not_ oblivious, but the words got caught in his mouth. Because the more he thought about it…

“That day in the armoury.” He said instead, thinking back to when Bad and Sapnap had all but shoved him out of the room when the other Assassin came in.

Wilbur nodded, realising what he was going for. “You know, your friends can be rather intimidating. Especially the one with the axe.”

“Sapnap.” He supplied for him. “What exactly did they tell you when I left?”

“Well, they warned me to stay away from you. That you were taken, and I should back off. I have to say, I didn’t know if I should feel flattered or scared.” He chuckled, adjusting his hair without really noticing it.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realise.” He apologised for his friends, feeling a weird mixture of embarrassment and affection flowing through him. On one hand, he wasn’t a kid that needed to be protected. He could handle himself, and they shouldn’t have threatened Wilbur-who was also his friend. But on the other hand… It really was heart-warming to see that his friends were still as protective over him as they used to be. Even after all this time and everything they’ve been through.

“It’s all right.” Wilbur shrugged.

“I’ll talk to them about it.” He told him. The sound of quiet footsteps caught his attention and he glanced over his shoulder automatically. He didn’t realize that his eyes lit up when he spotted George, automatically turning his body to face him more. “Hi.” He greeted him with a lopsided smile.

“Hi.” George came to a stop next to him, curiously glancing between the two of them. He didn’t say anything though, so Dream spoke for him.

“George, this is my friend Wilbur.” He introduced them. “Wilbur, this is George. He’s my…” He trailed off, a wave of doubt suddenly washing over them.

What exactly _were_ they?

Over the two weeks or so that they had spent together, they had never really talked about what they were. They would hold hands whenever they could. Cuddle in the same bed at night. Kiss like the world was ending when they were alone.

But they had never actually spoken about what they were to each other. About what they felt about each other.

Dream knew that he loved him, and that George loved him back. He had whispered it to him many times when he knew George was asleep, too afraid to say it when he was awake, and George seemed to be the same.

Two idiots in love… But what were they?

George answered for them this time though, unashamedly threading his fingers through his and giving him an affectionate smile. “Boyfriend.” He said confidently. “I’m his boyfriend.”

Warmth pooled in his stomach and he stared, completely starstruck and giddy, at George.

_His boyfriend._

He smiled, a beaming thing that had George giggling, equal amounts amused and flustered by the completely adoring gaze he looked at him with.

“Oh. _Oh._ I didn’t, uh… I didn’t realise you were actually…” Wilbur, for the first time since he’d met him, looked at a loss for words. His eyes were wide with something that looked a lot like surprise. He looked between the two of them, trying to gather his composure again, but it was clear that he was thrown. “Ah, well. It’s nice to meet you, George.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” George smiled, flashing teeth in that predatory, yet sweet way of his.

“I… guess I should be going now, actually. Mumbo’s been trying to catch me all day.” He looked as put together as he usually did again, though a hint of disappointment clouded his eyes. He didn’t let that keep that bright look from his face though.

Why did he look disappointed?

Pushing his own confusion away for now, he shifted out of his way. “It was nice seeing you, Wilbur.” Dream said, giving him a slightly distracted smile. It was a bit difficult to focus right now, with George pressed into his side and their hands intertwined. Not to mention the word _boyfriend_ ringing in his ears like choir bells.

“You too. Bye for now.” The Assassin gave the two of them a lazy, playful salute with the wrong hand and turned to leave.

They voiced their goodbyes, and only when he was out of sight did he turn to look at George again, unable to keep the thrilled look off of his face.

“So…” He started as nonchalantly as he could, despite the heat that blossomed through him. “Boyfriend, huh?”

“Shut up.” George huffed and bumped his hip against him.

Dream had to know though, so he tugged him back by the hand when he made a move to go back to Sapnap and George.

“No, really. Are we… _Are_ we dating? Is it official?”

George didn’t look at him, instead eyeing the floor like he wanted to sink into it and disappear forever. His previous bravado gone and replaced by a visible nervousness instead. He chewed his lip absently. “I mean… _If_ you want to, then…”

“George,” He said, pulling him closer. “I want to be with you. I _want_ to date you.” George looked up at him again, his face softening. “You have no idea how much I want that. But I don’t want to push you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I want that too.” He admitted quietly.

“Then it’s official?” He asked, a quiet hopefulness colouring his voice.

“It’s official.” He confirmed, a smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re officially my boyfriend.” He grinned, exhilarated and exuberant all at once. He sounded smug, and he couldn’t help but be exactly that.

Because George was his boyfriend.

Instead of looking exasperated by his response, he looked shyly pleased. His dark eyes glimmered with barely concealed delight.

“And you’re mine.”

Without hesitating, he pulled him in close, sealing their agreement with a lingering kiss.

For once not having to worry about hiding it from anyone else.

Two idiots in love.

-

“Why exactly are we doing this again?” Sapnap groaned, sitting on the grassy floor, and plucking at the thin green blades with his fingers.

“Bonding.” Dream answered cheerfully, tugging an apple down from the branches. He examined it for a moment, then tossed it into the basket on the floor next to him.

“No.”

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad.” Bad added. He and Dream seemed to be the only ones enjoying apple picking for some reason. Sapnap had opted to just watch them work for once, dangling his legs down from where he sat on one of the thicker branches, while George was busy hiding in the shade of the tree. He’d complained that it was too hot, and now just lay slumped over on the ground, hiding his face with an arm.

He had to admit, it was very amusing to see him defeated by a little bit of hot weather. He, Sapnap and Bad always had been able to handle hot weather better than George. And now that the sun was out in full force, his boyfriend was almost completely incapacitated.

“Why can’t we be bonding somewhere cool? I think I’m actually melting.” George whined, voice heavy with his discomfort. He moved like a snail, sluggish and too tired to do anything other than rest against the tree.

“It’s not that hot, you’re being dramatic.” Dream said. Not unkindly, but not exactly nicely either.

Sapnap on the other hand, was purposefully snippy. “Yeah, stop being such a baby.”

“Okay, rude.”

“Stop it, you muffins. We’re supposed to be bonding. Remember?” Bad reminded them, frowning behind his glasses.

“Sorry.” He and Sapnap chimed together, then flashed each other amused grins.

“Whose apple trees are these anyway?” George asked, eyes closed behind his glasses where they lay, skew, on his face.

“A neighbour of mine. He told me I could take a basket of apples before he got workers in to harvest them all.” He replied. He reached up on his toes and grabbed one of the red, shiny fruits.

“Your neighbours all seem really nice.”

“Most of them are. When I’m around to help out with some of their work, I usually do. And I guess they took a liking to me because of it.”

“Right. Nothing better than free labour.” Sapnap drawled, and Bad smacked him on the leg for it.

“Can we go inside?” George interrupted Sapnap’s outraged shout, pausing their playful banter before it could even begin to get out of hand. “I think we have enough apples.”

Dream stared.

Enough _apples?_

“Okay, who are you and what have you done to George?” He deadpanned.

His boyfriend scoffed. “Oh, shut up. I’m just so _hot_.”

Well… Dream could definitely agree with that. With tiny drops of sweat tracing down his partners neck and his pink lips partially parted with his heavy breathing, he was definitely _hot._

He looked away before he could get caught staring, swallowing thickly. He chucked the apple into the basket, absently realising that it was in fact almost full.

“Yeah, okay. I guess we can stop picking apples now.” He sighed, leaning down to pick the basket up by the handle.

“Aww.” Bad pouted, disappointed. “I was having fun.”

“Thank god.” George, on the other hand, was definitely not disappointed.

“We can always find something else to do.” He looked between his friends, idly thinking about something they could do that everyone would enjoy in this weather. He bit his lip, shifting his weight to the other foot. Sapnap jumped down from the tree, dusting himself off, then helped George to his feet. The brunet groaned loudly as he stood up, wiping his forehead with a hand. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought he was actually dying. But no, he was just being dramatic.

“Let’s go.” Without waiting to see if they were actually following him, he turned and left, walking between the dozens upon dozens of apple trees lined neatly in rows.

“We’re going back home now, right?” Bad asked, adjusting his glasses with a finger as he walked. It had pretty much become almost second nature for them to call his small but cozy cottage ‘home’ at this point. That didn’t keep his heart from thumping happily in his chest every time they did it though.

“Yeah. Since you guys are being such wimps, we’ll just hide inside until you come up with a better idea.”

“Because this is totally our fault, yes.” Sapnap’s sarcasm was audible in his words, and he practically hears his eye roll.

“Why are you guys so grumpy today? Jeez.” Dream chuckled, shaking his head. “And here I was thinking we would have a fun day together.”

“It’s hot _,_ Dream.”

“Well _I’m_ having fun.” Bad, ever the sweetheart, gave him a beaming smile with his reassurance.

“Thank you, Bad.” He gave George and Sapnap a dirty look over his shoulder. “At least _someone_ appreciates me.”

George, far from looking chastised, just gave him a smug smirk. “Who’s being the baby now?”

“You know, I thought boyfriends were supposed to be nice.”

“Not this boyfriend.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but that affectionate glimmer in his eyes gave him away.

“Okay, okay. Enough fighting. Now kiss and make up, you two.”

“Kiss him? While he’s hot and sweaty? No thank you.” Dream laughed, ignoring the way George gave him an affronted look.

“You’d be _lucky_ to kiss me while I’m hot and sweaty.”

“Gross, George. Gross. Bad and I don’t want to hear about what you two get up to when you’re alone.” Sapnap pretended to gag while Bad snorted, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

Dream on the other hand flushed a dark red. His only reassurance was the fact that George looked equally as flustered, spluttering and choking on his words.

“ _Not like that_!”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Georgie.” Sapnap was grinning from ear to ear, beyond amused, and he knew that he definitely hadn’t missed how both of them reacted.

“You’re the worst.” His boyfriend grumbled, electing to ignore his cheeky smile to instead walk at Dream’s side. He would have reached out to hold his hand, but his only currently working arm was holding the basket.

“I think you mean ‘best wingman ever’.”

George couldn’t help but pull a face at that, “What? No you aren’t. You had nothing to do with Dream and I getting together.”

“Of course I am!” Sapnap argued immediately. “Who do you think chased that Wilbur guy off so that you two could stop tiptoeing around each other and finally confess your undying love for one another? That was _me_.”

“And me.” Bad chimed in, though arguably a lot quieter about it.

“I _definitely_ don’t appreciate you intimidating him like that, by the way.” Dream said dryly, trying to ignore the way his ears felt hot. “Wilbur’s my friend. You could’ve been nicer to him.”

“He was also a challenger. We had to stick up for our main man George. You understand that. Right, Georgie?”

“I understand that you’re a moron.” His partner deadpanned, making him snort out a laugh and Sapnap protest an offended, _‘Hey!’_

“Okay, okay. Let’s change the topic before we start fighting again.” Bad giggled. He allowed the conversation to run a different course, despite knowing they were going to have to talk about this all again later. “George, have you actually told Dream what Grian told us yet?”

He glanced at him, curiosity piquing. “Told me what?”

George had the good sense to look sheepish, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Uhm… I kinda forgot to?”

“You forgot… Why am I not surprised?”

“Forgot what?” He looked between them, waiting for one of them to explain. They looked between each other; trading looks and smiles. “Forgot what?” He repeated.

Bad spoke first, eyes crinkling. “It turns out some of the Assassins were pretty impressed with our work during the attack.”

“Grian spoke to the Assassins higher up, and they came to a decision.” Sapnap continued for him. They were clearly happy about something, but what?

What was going on?

He looked to George for answers, seeing as neither of them would tell him what the hell they were going for. His boyfriend looked to be enjoying letting him stew in his curiosity though, and he was tempted to throw an apple at him so he would just talk. He didn’t do well in suspense.

“ _Well_?”

“Okay, so…” George started off, flashing him a quick grin. “Starting at the end of the month, we are officially Assassins in training.”

Dream almost tripped over his own feet, eyes blowing wide.

“Wait, what?”

“We’re gonna be Assassins!” Bad cheered, leaping at the three of them and tackling them in a group hug. Dream didn’t move for a moment, sent reeling at the news. But then he dropped his basket and immediately tugged the nearest person to him closer with his good arm, a somewhat incredulous laugh trickling from his lips.

“Oh my god, that’s amazing!” He smiled, a feeling of warmth filling him. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

“You should probably thank Techno for this. Grian said he vouched for us.” George said, cheeks spotted with red and a vaguely uncomfortable look on his face. He was probably overheating even more in their group-hug, pressed against everyone else like that. He pulled away first and the others followed his lead, much to George’s visible relief.

“Well now we _definitely_ have to do something fun. To celebrate.” He picked up his basket once again, an extra hop in his step now.

They were going to become Assassins.

_Assassins!_

He could hardly believe it… But they wouldn’t lie about this sort of thing, and he knew it.

With a warm feeling in his chest and his friends at his back, the four of them set off together. A new hope burning in his heart.

Their future looked bright.

-

“Stop splashing me!” George squawked, holding his arms up in front of his face defensively.

“You started it.” Sapnap jeered, flinging another armful of water at his friend.

Bad laughed from the distance, taking a short break from climbing to look over his shoulder at them.

All three of them were soaked thoroughly, but pleased, having taken refuge from the sun in the small natural pool hidden within the forest near their home. It was a peaceful place, and one that Dream had only found by accident; stumbling upon it early one morning when he was exploring the forest.

A glittering oasis in the midst of all the greenery.

The water, while being a stunningly vibrant blue, was clear enough for him to see the bottom, and occasionally a tiny fish would swim into his field of vision. They would quickly get swept away by the current every time he spotted one though, the waterfall pouring over the edge of a small cliff ensuring that the small things couldn’t stay in one place for too long.

Dream sank down further in the water, exhaling slowly as the cold liquid encircled his body. Even though the heat hadn’t hit him as hard as the others, even he wouldn’t deny that going for a swim was the best idea any of them had had all week. The summer had been ridiculously hot so far.

He switched focus from the friendly water fight to watch Bad climb the small waterfall, carefully choosing where to step and hold on the slippery surface of the rocky wall. He would have done the same, had he not known that the others would make him regret it.

His fingers twitched at the thought, wanting nothing more than to chase after Bad and scale up the waterfall, memories of the icy droplets spraying across his body and the exhilaration of being able to stand at the very top and gaze down at the beauty below resurfacing in his mind. And how many times he had jumped from that very spot, plunging down into the safety of the perfect expanse of water below. The rush of jumping, flying, falling, all at once… The breathlessness and the weightlessness, followed by the drop-

He forced himself to stop, banishing that train of thought from his mind. He was making himself frustrated.

Being injured _sucked_.

“Dream…” Sapnap drawled, lazily paddling over to him. Probably the victor of his and George’s fight, if George left spluttering and gasping behind him was any indication. “Come on, fight me.”

“You know I’d destroy you, right?” He asked, arching an eyebrow, despite his amusement.

Sapnap scoffed, a playful thing that made him smile. “Yeah, right. You won’t even leave the shallow water, how can you think you’d beat me?”

“Injured, Sappitus.” He deadpanned in response, lifting his arm above the water to show the mess of a still-healing wound. “I’m injured.”

Being in water was fine, but he’d had strict orders from his doctor to not do anything strenuous.

So to Dream, nothing _too_ strenuous. But that was close enough, right?

Still, he didn’t want to risk incurring Bad’s wrath, so he kept any vigorous activity for when he was alone, and alone only.

Bad was scary when he went all angry mother hen on them, after all.

“Fine. Then race me to the other end of the pool.”

He gave him a look. “Injured. Do you know what that means?”

“Oh boohoo. That sounds like coward talk. Are you a coward?”

“Stop it, Sapnap. You know he can’t do anything too rough.” Bad called from his place now atop the waterfall. He looked a bit battered by the powerful waterfall, but happy. Proud of himself for climbing it so easily.

“Yeah, listen to Bad.” He grinned viciously, revelling in the glare shot at him.

“Being injured has never stopped you before. Come on, I’ll give you a head start and everything.” Sapnap bargained, settling down into a spot next to him, languidly floating at the surface instead of sitting like he was.

“I’ll drown you if you say yes to him.” George threatened, swimming over to them as well now that he wasn’t in the process of dying.

“I’ll drown you if you don’t say yes to me.”

“Wow, okay.” Dream laughed, shaking his head and sending tiny droplets from his hair. “Maybe just… don’t drown me instead?”

“Way to ruin the fun, Dream.” Sapnap jabbed him in the side with an elbow, which he happily returned in kind.

“Yeah, way to ruin the fun.” George agreed, though much less violent with his response, with fingers curling into his palm instead of an attack.

A shriek rang out, followed by the loud noise of a body crashing into water. Bad resurfaced a moment later, laughing wetly. “That was amazing! You guys should totally try it!”

It only took a moment for Sapnap’s attention to shift focus, distracted by Bad’s enthusiastic shouts. He forgot about Dream and abandoned him in favour of the waterfall, going to try his own hand at climbing the slick rocks to get to the top. His attention span was so bad, but at least it worked out in his favour for once.

“Oh hell yeah, that looked like fun!”

George chuckled from beside him, watching Bad and Sapnap begin the climb. He took the moment of peaceful calm to study his partner, eyes tracing over the crystal-like drops clinging to his skin. His hair was plastered to his head, soaked through and a lot darker than when it was dry. Water droplets hung on his eyelashes, delicate and soft. His eyes were bright; reinvigorated by the cool water, but shining in the warmth of the sun.

“Perfect…” He murmured on a breath before he could catch himself.

He glanced at him, confusion colouring his gaze for a moment, then his skin darkened with a visible flush; understanding what he was talking about. “Shut up.” He muttered, flustered.

“Nah.” He grinned.

“You can’t just ‘nah’ me.”

“I just did.”

“Dream.”

“ _George._ ” He mocked his voice playfully.

“Ugh,” George groaned, letting go of his hand to shove his shoulder. “You’re actually impossible.”

He jolted, a gasp catching in his throat. “Ow-hey! Bad arm, George. Bad arm.” He complained, wincing at the twinge of pain shuddering through him.

The sharp look of horrified guilt he received almost made him laugh. He didn’t, of course. George wouldn’t have appreciated it if he did. But it was a close thing.

“Oh my god, Dream, I’m-I’m so sorry. I completely forgot, I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine.” He interrupted before he could start rambling in his guilt. “It wasn’t that bad, I promise.” George didn’t look like he believed him.

“But I-”

“It’s all right. It was an accident, you didn’t mean to.”

“Still, I…” He muttered, looking away. Either ashamed or embarrassed… He didn’t know which one for sure, but he didn’t like seeing that look on his face either way.

“It’s fine, I promise. You don’t have to feel bad about it.” He reassured him, trying to grasp his fingers beneath the water. His boyfriend didn’t let him catch his hand, not turning around to meet his eyes either. “George? Hey, come on. It’s all right, look at me.” When George still didn’t look at him, he draped himself over his shoulders, pressing his face to the back of his neck. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “George…” He huffed. “Look at me.”

“…no.”

“George,” He complained, pulling him tighter against him. His arm spiked faintly with pain again at the movement, but he ignored it. “Come on...”

Still nothing.

He sighed, a pout threatening to shift across his face.

“George…”

He leaned forward, pressing a wet kiss against ear.

_That_ got a response out of George.

The shorter male squirmed in his arms suddenly, a startled noise escaping his throat.

“ _Dream!_ ” He yelped, finally snapping his head back to look at him. Wide eyes and red cheeks came into view, and he couldn’t help a grin from spreading across his face, sparked ablaze by the response he got. Vicious and victorious.

“Yes, George?” He asked, feigning innocence.

“You-You’re-” He sputtered over his words, his skin only going darker with his blush.

“Yes?”

“…You’re a menace.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, I know.”

Tugging George closer to him, the two watched Sapnap finally make it to the top of the waterfall. Neither mentioned how he almost slipped and fell all the way back down when he took a bad step, but both chuckled at the sight. If not for Bad catching his arm, he would’ve been screwed.

“George! You should come up here!” Sapnap called down to them. “It’s really cool!”

“Maybe later!” George waved him off, seemingly content to just sit there with Dream and watch them.

“You don’t have to stay here just for me, you know that right?”

The brunet looked at him, a smile tugging at his lips. “I know.” He said simply.

The look of sureness in his gaze was enough to quell that thought for now.

He looked down at the water before them, absently tracing his eyes over the natural shape of the pool. It was pretty deep in some places, deep enough that his ears would pop, and his chest would burn if he went to the very bottom. The bigger fish seemed to like it further down, in the colder waters of the natural pool. His favourite parts were the shallower parts of the water though, the places where he couldn’t _quite_ touch the bottom with his feet when he stood, but still felt safe enough to swim in. The bits where the water was just a bit warmer, where he could float and lounge about for hours and hours on end. Perfectly content.

“When I’m fully healed up, we need to come here again. I want to show you something.” Catching George’s curious look, he continued, “There’s a really cool underwater cave just below there.” He pointed out a small area, hidden beneath the water and the rocks. “It’s down pretty deep, but it’s worth the dive.”

“It sounds nice. I’d like that.” George said, eyes following the path of a dragonfly as it flitted past them through the air, body shining a deep blue and wings shimmering a whole range of colours like they were made of stained glass.

The creature darted away when Sapnap came barrelling through the air with a loud whoop. He crashed through the water, spraying them with water even though they were nowhere near close to him. Bad landed a second after he did, sending another wave of droplets over them.

“That was intense. I love it.” Sapnap immediately paddled his way back towards the churning froth of the waterfall, intent on having another go. Bad watched him go with a chuckle, his enthusiasm visible to them all.

“It really is a lot of fun. You really should have a go, George.”

“Maybe later.” George conceded absently, rubbing water from his eyes. Bad smiled at them, then made his way after Sapnap-though notably less frantic about it compared to Sapnap. “Have you heard from Techno?” He asked when they were out of range, playing with the surface of the water with a hand.

“I have, actually. He told me he’s coming to stay with us sometime in the next few days.” He’d gotten word from his friend just a day prior, actually. He’d gotten permission to take some time off and so would be spending a few days with them.

His boyfriend hummed his acknowledgement.

“He can be a pretty scary guy sometimes.”

Dream blinked. “Who, Techno?”

“Yeah.” Seeing his confusion, George rolled his eyes and let out a breathy noise that sounded vaguely like laughter. “Okay, maybe not to _you_. But when he wants to be scary, he can be. Sapnap would never admit it, but he was pretty intimidated by him when we first met him. I think we all were, actually.”

“Oh… Well, I guess we’re lucky he’s on our side, huh? Besides, he’s just a teddy bear at heart.”

“Mmm.” He hummed again, though teasingly unconvinced in nature.

“What? He _is_. And even if he isn’t, I could always kick his ass for you.” He reassured him. Maybe a bit _too_ confidently, but still.

“How romantic.” George said dryly, giving him an amused smile.

“Only the best for you, Georgie.”

His sweet cooing only got him forcefully dunked underwater by the laughing brunet.

-

Dream lay unmoving beneath the dark figure, face bloodied and eyes unfocused. Red trickled down his lips and chin, staining his bared teeth and forming a puddle beneath him.

A clawed hand pressed against the exposed flesh of his throat.

‘Let go of him!’ His mind howled.

George went to knock an arrow into his bow, only to find his hands empty.

No, no, no, where was his bow-

Johnson grinned, fangs gleaming in the fire around them. A demon engulfed by the flames of hell.

Dream caught his eyes, wide and watery. Terrified.

Johnson’s claws pushed down on his skin until beads of blood started to form around them. A pained noise came from someone. From Dream or himself, he didn’t quite know.

He tried to move, but found his feet stuck to the floor. Unable to take a single step forward. Unable to help.

“George-” Dream gasped, tears of red falling from his eyes.

His lips moved desperately, throat straining, but no words came out.

He couldn’t speak.

He couldn’t say anything.

_He couldn’t breathe._

He could only watch as Johnson ripped Dream’s throat out, claws tearing through his neck and sending a shower of blood burning through the air.

_Redredredredred-_

No!

Dream convulsed, spluttering and choking wetly. Johnson stepped away, his blood dripping from his beastly claws.

No, no, no, Dream-

He screamed; a silent, wordless thing, while something hot burned down his cheeks.

So much red.

Still he couldn’t move, forced to watch as the light drained from the love of his life’s eyes.

He went still. Covered in red.

“You should have saved him, George.”

A voice, raspy and demonic rang through the air, rattling him through his bones. The room seemed to shake and the fire around them grew with each word. Cracks spread across the walls, glowing like embers.

“You should have saved him!”

Why didn’t you save him-

George shuddered awake, heart beating wildly and in a cold sweat.

He was in bed. In Dream’s house. He was safe. They both were.

_‘Just a dream.’_

Silence surrounded him, comforting and soothing. No evil laughter. No crackling flames. No rancid smoke taking over his senses. Just blissful, wonderful silence and a familiar warmth coming from the person lying next to him, his scent familiar and calming.

He pressed his face into the blanket and inhaled slowly, breathing in the smell. As pacifying as it was, it still wasn’t enough to ease the ache in his heart.

He turned over onto his side, cracking his eyes open.

As he had thought, the sight of Dream beside him, perfectly all right and unharmed, was enough to get his nerves settled. Too tired to get up, but still too shaken from his nightmare to go back to sleep again, he just studied the man next to him. His back was to him, but his body moved ever so slightly with every deep breath he took. He was alive.

He was all right.

_He was all right._

His boyfriend-god, he never stopped getting all fluttery inside at that word-lay beside him, soft and relaxed in the dim light. His too-long golden hair a mess on the pillow, silver in the small slivers of moonlight that drifted in through the curtains.

The blanket had drifted down his torso at some point, resting at his hips. He didn’t wear a shirt to bed unless it was cold, and while it wasn’t exactly hot out tonight, it wasn’t cold either.

George slowly ran his eyes over his back, his bare skin paler than ever in the light. An almost flawless sight, if not for the light things that stretched across his skin. A short, circular scar that he couldn’t recognise, and he wondered where it came from, lay above a too familiar one.

A long, thin scar that he himself had painted across the perfect expanse of his skin. Red-turned-white ink forever staining his body’s canvas. The wound might have healed by now, but he had still not forgiven himself for inflicting it upon him.

He felt the urge to reach out and touch it. Touch _him._

So he did. Giving in to his sleepy lack of inhibitions, he extended a hand and gently traced a finger along the scar. Feeling the mark he had written across his skin with a feathery touch.

Dream tensed for a bare second, then eased up again beneath his touch, a soft hum vibrating through him. He pulled his hand away when his boyfriend turned over, shifting beneath the blankets until he was facing him, barely inches from him. His eyes were open.

George might have been surprised to see that he was awake, if not for the grogginess still lingering through him. Too tired to do anything other than stare sleepily. The freckles that dotted across his nose and cheeks looked dark against his skin in the light.

“You’re awake too, huh?” The Assassin whispered. There was no need to really, but it didn’t feel right to do anything but whisper.

He nodded minutely. “Nightmare.” He explained quietly.

“Yeah… Me too.”

Seeing as he didn’t feel like talking about it, and neither it seemed did Dream, the two of them went silent. Just taking comfort in each other’s presence.

His eyes shifted across his chest, taking in the few scars painted across his skin. Again he reached out and pressed his fingers against the biggest of them, feeling the pale mark beneath the pads of his fingertips. It was almost exactly in line with the one he had seen on his back. He flicked his gaze up again, meeting impossibly green eyes in silent question.

“Crossbow bolt.” He answered, entirely unfazed by his actions. “The day I ran away.”

So that was what happened…

He’d nearly died that day. To George, he _had_ died.

But he hadn’t. He was all right. And all that was left of the near-death experience was a sour memory and a set of scars.

Moving his hand and his attention onto another scar, a thin one across his collarbone, he silently prompted the same question.

“Techno caught me off guard during a sparring session. He got really upset, it was actually kind of funny.” An amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips. A fond memory.

By his neck was another scar, though a lot smaller than the rest. He knew what that was from though. He was just glad the wound hadn’t been any bigger. He didn’t know what he would have done if his nightmare had come to life that day.

He went a bit above, noticing a tiny scar just beneath his jaw and decidedly avoiding that train of thought.

Knowing what he was looking at, he provided an explanation for him. “I was climbing and slipped. Banged my chin pretty hard.”

His eyes flicked upwards a bit further, running over the small line across the bridge of his nose. Small and just one or two shades later than his actual skin tone. It probably would’ve been impossible to see it had he been any further away. He reached a hand out and gently tapped a finger on his nose once, a smile making its way across his face. A small, almost smug looking thing.

“You deserved that one.”

Dream blinked once. “Excuse me?”

“You pretty much did the same thing to me. So you deserve that scar.” He said.

“Wait, what? When did I do the same thing to you?” He asked, incredulous at his matter-of-fact. He shifted closer, both amused and taken aback at the same time.

“In that forest outside that one town. You slammed me into a tree.” He deadpanned, despite the slight curve of his lips breaking his stoic expression.

“Wha-You were trying to _kill_ me!”

“Still. It was rude.” He pouted. More than a little bit childish, but he didn’t care.

“Okay, okay, fine.” Dream sighed heavily, catching his eyes. Gleaming in the moonlight with emotions he wasn’t sure he’d ever figure out the meaning of. “I’m sorry for slamming you into a tree, George.”

Searching his eyes for any hints of deceit, he exhaled slowly, letting his face smoothen out again fondly. “All right…” He conceded when he found only a genuine apology in his look. “I forgive you.”

They both settled down again, and George started his curious exploration up again.

He shifted his fingers along his arm, gently smoothing his digits across the still-healing knife wound. He moved them further down to trace across another set of silver marks, these ones little dots-not unlike freckles-near his wrist.

“Dog bite. So it turns out wild dogs aren’t friendly.”

“No. Dream, tell me you didn’t try to touch a wild dog.” George looked up again, fixing him with a disbelieving stare.

“I did, yeah.” He huffed out a soft laugh, flipping his hand over so he could see more of those little dots on the underside of his arm. “I just wanted to see what would happen.”

“Oh my god. You’re actually an idiot. What if it had rabies?”

“It didn’t.”

“But what if it did?”

“It didn’t George! I’m fine.” He grinned, clearly amused by his concern.

George didn’t find it nearly as amusing.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, Dream placidly letting him run his fingers across his skin, and George doing his best to commit every mark, every curve, every inch of his body to his memory. Scars and all.

Dream seemed to like his touches even, relaxing more beneath his fingers with every passing moment. Of course he would. He’d seen how he reacted to him playing with his hair. He just liked being touched. George on the other hand, didn’t. Dream was one of the only people that he actually _liked_ touching him.

“Are you still wanting to go to sleep?” Dream broke the peaceful silence, voice barely above a sleepy murmur.

“No. I don’t think I’d be able to even if I tried.”

Breaking away from him, Dream sluggishly sat up, taking a moment to rake his slender fingers through his hair. Smoothening down the disarray of his bedhead.

“Come on then.” He said, standing up. He swayed for a moment, legs clearly not awake just yet, then moved towards the cupboard. Probably to look for a shirt.

“What? Where are we going?” He didn’t move from his place. He might not have wanted to go back to sleep, but that didn’t mean he wanted to get up. Bed was warm. Outside… wasn’t.

“Just get up.” He didn’t have to look at him to know he was rolling his eyes.

With a louder than necessary sigh, he begrudgingly sat upright, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine.” He huffed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He shivered immediately, unused to the chill in the air. He wanted to crawl back beneath the covers and hide there forever.

But then Dream was in front of him and tugging a thick cloak around his shoulders, chasing away the cold with the luxurious fur garment. An expensive item for sure, and one that George didn’t even know his boyfriend had.

He looked up, not protesting when he pulled him to his feet. He was wearing a shirt now and had a cloak of his own on.

Putting two and two together, he asked, “Are we going outside?”

“You’ll see.” Came his cryptic answer.

“Dream-”

“You’ll see.” Dream repeated, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile. Not letting go of him, he tugged him along, quietly slipping out of their room. The lights were all off in the house, and the only sound was the gentle creaks of the house settling into itself.

Like shadows the two of them traversed through the darkness, hand in hand and feet bare. Neither daring to utter even a word in case they woke the other occupants of the house.

Dream led him out onto the balcony, pushing open the doors with nothing but a low squeak. His eyes flicked up the walls, as if searching for something. He stepped towards the railings and lifted a foot to climb it.

George realised immediately what he wanted to do, his eyes lighting up.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He stopped him in place, biting down on his lower lip. Dream paused and looked at him questioningly. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He darted away before he could say anything, running through the hallway as quietly as he possibly could.

He went downstairs, making his way to the kitchen. With how much time he had spent here, he was starting to know the house like the back of his hand. Even in the dark.

His goal sat under the cover of a cloth and he pulled it back, revealing a dozen or so little pastries. They must have been cool by now, but he knew that they would taste good anyway. So sending a silent apology to Bad, he stole two of them and wrapped them in the nearest clean cloth he could find.

He also had to thank Bad later for this. The timing could _not_ be better.

Making his way back as quickly-and quietly-as he could, he found Dream waiting exactly where he had left him.

The Assassin gave him a curious look but didn’t press him for answers when he only smiled and shook his head. Accepting his silence, he expertly scaled up from the railing and up the wall, confident in his steps, like he’d done it a hundred times before. He probably had, now that he thought about it.

Another thought struck him, and his smile faltered, worry clawing its way up inside him. “Dream, your arm-” He started uneasily. It was far from healed, no matter what he claimed. And climbing really wasn’t something he was supposed to be doing.

“It’s all right, I’ll be fine.” The other male reassured him, pulling himself up onto the tiles. He gave him a doubtful look anyway. “George, it’s fine!” He laughed, leaning down and extending his good arm towards him.

He sighed, not liking how casual and reckless he was. At this rate, it would never heal. But whatever, that would be his fault. The idiot.

He reached up and grabbed onto his arm, bracing a foot against the wall.

Quicker than he thought, he was pulled up and now stood on the roof with him, bare feet cold against the chilly tiles. Dream might have been a lot of things; reckless, silly, impulsive, but he was still strong. Sometimes he forgot just how strong he was.

Other times he revelled in it. There was nothing quite like being picked up and held by the person you love, never afraid of being dropped. It was helped that they often ended up making out whenever Dream picked him up so effortlessly like that. What can he say? He found his strength ridiculously attractive.

Again Dream didn’t let go of his hand, leading him up to the very top of the roof. It was slippery and somewhat damp, but with his silent support, he never felt unsafe.

The two of them sat on the small platform next to the chimney, immediately pressing into each other for extra warmth. While it wasn’t really that cold, George still appreciated the furnace of a person sitting next to him. The thick cloak around his shoulders was also useful in warding the chill away.

Dream hummed, a quiet, happy noise, and tilted his head up to look at the sky. He followed his gaze, taking in the winking lights that shined down over them. Not a single cloud in the sky. The moon was round and full, almost yellow in the sky. Then again, a lot of things were yellow to him.

“This reminds me of the last time we went stargazing.” He tore his eyes away from the admittedly breath-taking sight, only to land on an even _more_ breath-taking sight. Dream, with his face turned to the stars and a smile curled at his absolutely kissable lips. Something sad lingered in that gaze of his though, eyes a magnificent golden colour to him without his glasses. Not unlike the moon itself that night.

“On the roof during your birthday?” He prompted gently, a nostalgic smile tugging at his own lips.

“Yeah.” He let out a quiet huff of laughter, so quiet and different compared to his ridiculous wheezing laugh, but still so endearing to him. “We missed each other’s last birthdays.” He admitted, giving his hand a squeeze. If for reassurance or for effect, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter anyway. “I thought of you on that day, you know. You were all I thought about.”

“I wish I was with you during it.” He murmured. Less of a confession and more of a statement.

“Me too.” Dream exhaled, bringing his hand up to press the softest kiss to the back of his hand. “But we’re here together now. That’s what’s important, right?”

He nodded, that stupid fluttery feeling unfurling within his stomach at the simple gesture. He hated how easily he would melt from the smallest things he did. He was weak around him like he was with no one else. Dream did things to him that he couldn’t even begin to understand, unexplainable, confusingly wonderful things. He hated it, but he loved it. And he hated that he loved it.

It was all just one big ridiculous situation.

Not trusting himself to speak, he instead pulled the two pastries he took from the kitchen out, unwrapping the cloth to present them to his boyfriend. The very same type of pastry that they had shared on his birthday all that time ago.

He clearly knew that too, as his face lit up brighter than the stars above them, mouth dropping open with his surprise.

“Wha- _how_? How did you…?” He stumbled over his words, clearly stunned by his little surprise. The look on his face made him grin so heavily that his cheeks hurt.

“Bad made a batch of them earlier today and I decided to steal some for us.” He explained. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice him making them.”

“I guess I was too distracted.”

That he had definitely known already. Despite him supposed to be resting and keeping strain off of his arm, he was still up and about all day long. Picking apples and brushing the horses and jumping into the creek. It would have worried him more, if he didn’t know that he was being careful. Or rather, as careful as _Dream_ could be. Which probably wasn’t enough, but what can he do? Dream didn’t let anything keep him down.

“Well, take one already. I think he made a few different flavours. I just don’t know which ones I took.” He said, bumping him with a shoulder. As expected, Dream bumped him right back.

“Surprise flavours. How fun.” The Assassin chuckled, accepting one of the soft pastries with a warm smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The two ate in silence, neither minding that they were no longer warm or as fresh as they used to be. Both comfortable despite the tiles beneath them being hard and cold. Because they were together. Nothing else really mattered.

“Yum. Mine’s apple. What did you get?” Dream asked.

“Strawberry.” He answered, pouting. Why did _he_ get the one with apple jam? That’s not fair.

Dream sighed, despite clearly being amused by his childish response. “If you _really_ want, I _guess_ I can let you taste mine…” He made it sound like he was asking him for an expensive new coat, and not just a bite of a pastry.

“Wow, how generous.” He replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, okay.” He laughed. He enticingly held the remaining half of his pastry up, eyes twinkling. “Open wide.”

George was tempted to smack him for treating him like some kind of animal he wanted to feed, but the promise of apple kept him from doing so. So instead he exhaled sharply through his nose and gave him a look, then parted his lips expectantly. He watched the slender fingers more than the food as he stretched his hand towards him.

Then suddenly the food was gone and instead Dream was there, soft lips warm against his own and tongue sliding into his mouth. He made a small noise of surprise but didn’t pull away. Unexpected, but not quite unwanted. Tingles ran down his spine, electric and fantastic.

Dream wasn’t shy with his advancements, kissing him deeply and fiercely, pressing into him like he was his very source of oxygen. He tasted apple on his tongue, sweet and sugary and-

Oh.

Oh, so _that’s_ what he was doing… The sneaky bastard.

His thoughts flew from his mind when he felt a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer and fingers sliding through his hair. A very undignified sound left his mouth, only to be swallowed by his. God, his kisses were so unbearably addictive. He wouldn’t have cared if the world were burning down around them; as long as he was kissing him, he would be more than happy.

By the time Dream pulled away again, he was warm all over, cheeks flushed and lips pink. Panting for air. His boyfriend hummed as he leaned back, somehow looking perfectly put together despite their impromptu makeout session, and maybe even a little bit smug. His tongue snaked out to lick his lips and he found his eyes automatically flicked down to watch it, silently admiring the skilled thing. Their eyes caught again not a moment later, Dream catching him watching but-thankfully-not commenting on it.

“Hmm… The strawberry is nice too.” He said matter-of-factly.

He stared, dumbfounded by his nonchalance. “You’re an idiot.” He finally got out, flushing even further.

His boyfriend grinned, linking their hands together. “But you love me.” He cooed.

“…Yeah.” He admitted after a pause. “I do.” The first time he had ever admitted that to him out loud, despite both of them knowing that he did. And that he had for a long time.

But he couldn’t hold it back anymore. He loved Dream. So, _so_ much. So intensely that he would rather die than be without him.

Dream’s face softened, his affection shining through. Warm and fond and so _caring._

“I love you too, George.” He leaned in, placing another soft kiss on his lips. This one light and gentle, but not any less loving. A silent gesture of his devotion. Adoration bloomed within him.

George sighed happily when they parted and curled up into his side. Perfectly content. He couldn’t remember ever being so happy before in his life. Just being there with Dream. He didn’t want to ever leave. And he knew that Dream felt the same way.

“The stars are out tonight.” Dream murmured, looking incredible in the starlight.

He smiled, resting his head on his shoulder. The two of them watched the shining stars together, bathing in the moonlight and each other’s warmth.

Happy and free.

“Yeah… Yeah, they are.”


End file.
